Picking Up The Pieces
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: Ten months ago, Sam was dragged into Hell in order to save his brother. Now Sam is back and he and Dean have to find a way to struggle on with their shared burdens, fighting in a world that is careening towards its end. Going It Alone sequel
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to Picking Up The Pieces. If you are here on the heels of Going It Alone, welcome back. If this is your first time in the GIA/PUTP verse… You're going to be very confused. Going It Alone was Dean's story and Picking Up The pieces will be both Sam and Dean's together. **

**If you are a Sam girl and aren't interested in reading the preceding story, drop me a PM and I will give you a cliff-notes version of Going It Alone to enable you to read this story without too much confusion. If you read the GIA epilogue, you will recognize the opener to this chapter. Repetition is no fun, so skip down to the first page break and that will be where the new material starts. **

**Thanks go to Gredelina1 for all her help getting this chapter to a readable standard. If any mistakes remain, they're down to my tweaking.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Chapter One<em>**

Sam braced himself for the pain to come again, but there was nothing. That was wrong. There was always pain. When the reprieve from the physical came, it would be emotional. He preferred the physical. When your flesh was being flensed from your bones, you knew what to expect. When they were wearing the faces of people Sam loved, it was harder. They said things and did things that burned Sam more than the hot pokers and knives that they used.

He thought perhaps it was time for _her_ to come again, to make her offer, but she didn't come.

Confused, he opened his eyes. There was nothing but darkness. Not even a sliver of light came to him. The air felt different though. It was musty and as he breathed it in, he realized how shallow it was.

His breath came in a rasp and he coughed. "Hello. Is someone there?"

There was no response, not that he expected one. This had to be their new torment, and they wouldn't spoil it by alerting him to where he was. He reached out with his other senses to try to make sense of his surroundings. He was laying on something hard and his hands were laid over his chest. With careful movements, he flexed his fingers and found that he had movement. He shrugged his shoulders and realized movement was limited.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, both drawing air into his strained lungs and searching for more clues to his location. He could smell wood and earth and something unpleasant. He didn't want to think about that smell. It couldn't lead anywhere good. His hands lifted and he felt around him. He was inside a wooden box; he could feel the rough grain against his skin.

He drew a shaky breath and understanding dawned. He was in a coffin.

Of all the torments Lilith and her cronies had put him through, this had to be the worst. They were twisted and cruel. He knew what he was supposed to think, that he'd been saved, and as soon as the relief had sunk in, they would tear back the curtain, and he would be on the rack. His lungs began to burn from the thin air, and though his knew it was an illusion, he didn't need air in Hell, he knew he had to do something about it; he had to get free.

Crying internally, he fisted his hand and punched at the wooden ceiling of his prison. A trickle of dirt slipped down over him and he whimpered. He was going to have to dig his way out. He would have given anything in that moment to be under the knife again. Anything was better than this.

Need overcame horror and he began to pummel the ceiling, sending dirt spewing down over his face and body. He spat, clearing his mouth, and pushed harder.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he made progress upwards. His lungs had long since run out of air and he was fighting with a swimming head to stay conscious as he grappled with the dirt. Then, with a rush of relief, his hands broke the surface. He forced them sideways, dragging himself out of the hole with tremendous effort. As his face met the cool air, he drew a shuddering breath of fresh air.

He had a moment's heady relief, and then he was petrified again. There was so much noise. He had to get away from it. He could hear laughter and voices, and he knew it was the demons coming for him again. He struggled to his feet and looked around. The place was familiar, but his mind refused to present him with the name of his location, it was busy fighting outright panic. He saw a large shadow looming over him in the darkness and he made his way towards it.

He found himself in a musty smelling room. There was no light inside, but he preferred the inky darkness. He pulled the door closed behind him and the sound of the demon's voices and laughter was muted. He breathed a sigh of relief. It would take them time to find him here. He could hide a while away from the knives and heat and pain.

He could rest.

* * *

><p><em>"We'll be right there," Bobby said quietly. He set the phone down and rubbed a hand over his face. He still looked pale and his hands were a little shaky. <em>

_"Bobby, what is it?" he asked. _

_Bobby started, as if just noticing Dean was still there. He spoke in a whisper. "It's Sam. He's…" He gulped. "He's back."_

Their situation was dire. Lucifer had just been freed and the world was going to pay the price. Dean knew all of that, and yet he couldn't help but feel a rush of joy as Bobby's words sank in. Sam was back. Sam, his Sammy, had come back.

The weight of the last ten months of pain and longing slipped from his shoulders, making him feel lighter than air. It was a tangible thing, the relief. Sam was back. Whatever was happening to the world now, and it was sure to be bad, Dean could handle it, as he would have his brother beside him. There was nothing they couldn't do when they were together.

Contrary to Dean's elation, Bobby still looked pale and shaky. Dean guessed it was a shock, he felt a little shaky too as the adrenaline coursed through him, but Bobby looked sad too, and that made no sense.

"What's wrong?" he asked, unable to keep the smile from his face. "Sam's back, right?"

Bobby shook his head slowly. "It's not Sam, Dean, not our Sam. It's gotta be the demon part of him."

Dean drew in a sharp breath as the weight crashed down over him again. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to absorb the shock before he spoke so his horror wouldn't be so obvious. It was pointless trying to hide it from Bobby; he knew Dean well, second only to Sam, and he would see it all regardless. But Dean was proud. He didn't want to show that his heart was breaking.

"You really think so?"

Bobby looked solemn. "I do. Alastair said it, and so did Crowley and Lilith. Sam's a demon now."

"But demons lie," Dean said in a small voice.

"They do, but only when a lie will hurt more than the truth." There was a little too much understanding in Bobby's tone for Dean's liking. "Lilith didn't offer you Sam to stand down from the apocalypse. If there's a surefire way to get you to do something stupid, it's to bring Sam into it, but she didn't even bother. I think she was telling the truth. The Sam we knew is gone. We've got to face that before we go anywhere, or we'll be walking into a trap."

Dean was sure Bobby was right, but he didn't want to admit it to himself. He wanted to believe his brother was back, as that made it easier for him to handle what he'd just done. He was trying with everything he had not to think about it, but the truth nagged at him anyway. He'd done it, he'd doomed the world, and his brother wasn't there to help him pick up the pieces.

"What exactly did Ellen say?" he asked.

Bobby tugged off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. "She was in a real mess. She just kept saying he was back. I think it's safe to assume he's done something to her or Jo, as Ellen isn't a woman easily rattled. I think we need to go into this expecting a trap."

"You think Sam's trying to trap us?"

"I think he'll be trying to trap _you_. Even if he doesn't remember his human life, you've got to be top of the demons' hit list given that you've just killed their big boss. An easy way to get to you is to go after your friends. I'm the obvious target, but this place is as well protected from demons as I can make it, so they've gone for…"

"Ellen and Jo," Dean finished for him. He pulled out Ruby's knife from his inside pocket and checked the colt was still loaded.

Bobby gaped at him. "You planning on killing him?"

"No!" Dean said brutally. "And I'll kill anyone else that tries. I am taking these for any backup he may have brought with him."

Bobby held his hands up. "Okay. No need to tell me. I don't want to hurt him anymore that you do. I'm just thinking, if we are walking into a trap, and he's hurt Ellen and Jo, how are we going to take him out?"

Dean didn't know. His brother was smart and he had a hunter's mind. Add to that a demon power-up and they were walking into a nightmare. He couldn't let Bobby go into this thinking killing Sam was an option though. That would never be an option.

"We've got to get out of here," he said. They had already wasted enough time talking. Even now, Sam could be hurting Ellen and Jo.

Bobby nodded and made for the door. Dean followed him out and unlocked the Impala. They climbed in and Dean gunned the engine. The radio came to life, and Dean snapped it off. He didn't want music; he didn't want anything to make him feel good. After the disappointment he'd just experienced, there was no more good for him.

* * *

><p>By the time they reached <em>Bill's, <em>light was creeping over the horizon, casting shadows across the gravel-topped parking lot. Dean parked beside Jo's car and climbed out. Lights were still burning in the windows of the bar, and Dean guessed that was where Sam and his victims were holed up. The thought that Sam even had victims was abhorrent, but Dean had to face it; this wasn't his Sam.

He opened the trunk and stowed a flask of holy water into his pocket. Bobby grabbed one too and a knife. Dean looked at him darkly.

"I'm not planning on hurting him," Bobby said defensively.

"Then what's with the knife?"

"I feel naked without a weapon."

Dean nodded and slammed the trunk. With light footsteps, he made his way around to the window of the bar. The glass was coated with dust, and he couldn't get a good look inside. He'd hoped that they would be able to get a glimpse of what they were facing, but it was impossible.

He plodded over to the door and hammered once on the wood. "It's us."

The bolts disengaged and the door opened a crack. Bracing himself for a first glimpse at his demonic brother, Dean waited. But it was Jo who stepped into the light. Dean was transported back through the months to the last time he was met with this scene, soon after his own resurrection. He had been filled with hope that day, ready to see his brother again, now he felt no happiness, only a sense of heavy responsibility for what had happened. It was all his fault after all. He had been the one Sam made the deal for. He should have done a better job preparing Sam for his death, then Sam would have been able to leave him in the pit. So much could have been avoided. Sam wouldn't have made his deal. Dean would have stayed in the pit. Sam wouldn't have become a demon, and Lucifer would have remained in his cage. However you came at it, this was all Dean's fault.

Jo stepped back and Dean pushed past her into the bar. He pulled the colt out of his pocket and raised it, pointing it into the corners of the room, searching for his brother, but there was no one there but Ellen sitting at a table.

As she caught sight of Dean, she jumped to her feet. "What are you doing?"

"Where is he?" Dean asked through gritted teeth.

Ellen looked at him blankly. "I don't know. Now, put that damn gun down before you hurt someone."

Dean lowered the gun and then raised it again. Ellen was too calm. Holding the gun steady in his hand, he pulled out the flask of holy water and held it out to her. "Take a belt of this."

"Have you lost your mind?" Jo asked shrilly.

"You too, Jo," Bobby said from behind him.

Ellen stepped forward slowly and took the flask. She uncapped it and raised it to her mouth. Dean waited, tensed for the reaction, but none came. She took a deep swig of the water and then capped the bottle again.

"Satisfied?" she asked.

"Jo's clean too," Bobby said, coming to stand beside him.

"Of course we are," Ellen said. "Now, you want to explain why you think we're demons?"

"We had to be sure," Bobby said. "Sam could have…" He trailed off.

"Why do I get the feeling we're missing something?" Ellen asked.

Dean stowed the gun back down the back of his pants and raked a hand through his hair. Nothing here made sense. If Ellen had seen the demon Sam, she would know why they needed to test them, which meant something else was happening here. Had Sam pretended to be human for them? Why would he do that?

"You're not the only one," Bobby said. "You called me saying Sam's back. Did you see him?"

Ellen shook her head. "No, we only saw his grave." When Dean and Bobby looked at her blankly, she continued. "It's been chewed up."

Dean strode past Ellen and out into the kitchen. Taking a deep breath in hopes of preparing himself for what he was about to see, he threw open the door and stepped outside. His eyes immediately found the grave, and his heart sank and what he saw. He had seen a similar sight before, ten months ago, after he'd dug his way out. The earth was disturbed and there was a hole, just wide enough for a man to have clawed his way out.

"Awww, hell," Bobby said from behind him.

Dean turned away from the grave and looked at Bobby. "I don't understand." Though he tried to quash it, he felt an inkling of hope again. A demon wouldn't have wanted Sam's body, would it?

Bobby shook his head. "It's the demon. The demons have hooked Sam up with his old meat suit."

"Why would they do that?"

"To screw with your head. To make it harder for you to kill him." Bobby shrugged. "Maybe he's nostalgic now."

"Wait!" Ellen said harshly. "Are you saying Sam's a demon?"

Dean cast his eyes downward and she took her answer from his silence.

Ellen shook her head jerkily. "No, he can't be. That takes centuries; Sam was only gone ten months."

"Hell time's different. For us it was ten months, for Sam it was a century. And according to the demons, Sam had something of a head start."

Ellen looked confused, but Bobby didn't elucidate. Dean was grateful. He didn't want Ellen and Jo judging Sam for the demon blood that had run through his veins. It hadn't been his fault. They remembered Sam as he had been, pure and human, and Dean didn't want that changing.

Jo looked sickened. "Sam's a demon. That's just…"

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "It's screwed to hell."

"So, you're telling me Sam's running around somewhere with black eyes?" Ellen asked. She didn't seem able to grasp the truth.

Bobby nodded. "According to some heavy hitting demons, yeah. He's been back a few months."

"And you didn't tell us!" Ellen snapped.

Dean raised haunted eyes to look at her. "Would you have told us if it was Jo? We couldn't have anyone know, as they'd hunt him."

"With good reason," Ellen said. "What are you planning to do with him?"

"We're going to take him back to Bobby's and keep him in the panic room."

"You're going to trap a demon," Ellen said incredulously, "and keep it hostage? Have you lost your damn minds?"

Dean's jaw clenched. She didn't understand. They couldn't kill him. It was Sam. It didn't matter that he was a demon now; that wasn't his fault. He was still Dean's brother and he wasn't about to see him dead, not again.

"It's the only way," Bobby said doggedly. "It'll keep him safe and it'll keep others safe from him."

Ellen pushed back her hair and huffed out a breath. "Okay. What can we do to help?"

"We've got to find him," Dean said. "How long has he been out?"

"I got back just after midnight," Jo said. "And it looked like this then. He was still… in there… yesterday. I came out before I left."

Dean checked his watch. "Okay, that gives him a couple hours head start. I figure we should split up and start with the roads. It's late so it's unlikely he found someone to hitch with. He might be holed up somewhere close."

Bobby cleared his throat. "We don't need to search, Dean. We've got everything back at the house we need to find him."

Dean looked at him blankly.

"He's a demon now. We can summon him like we did Ruby, or we can use the scry to find where he is. The panic room is still set up for interrogating demons. It's got everything we need in there to keep him safe."

Dean hated the thought, the reminder that his brother could be found with these tricks because he wasn't human anymore. He forced away his discomfort and concentrated on what Bobby was telling him. They could find Sam. That was what was important.

"Okay," he said. "We'll go back to yours and…" He trailed off as a sound reached him. It was the sound of metal scraping against metal. "Does anyone else hear that?" he asked.

"It coming from the shed," Jo said.

"Probably another 'coon," Ellen said dismissively.

Dean didn't think so. He had a feeling he knew exactly what it was. Could Sam have been there the whole time, listening to their conversation and waiting for the right moment to strike? Was it possible that he was mere feet away this whole time?

Dean and Bobby exchanged a dark look and Dean knew Bobby was thinking the exact same thing as him. He pressed a finger to his lips to instruct the others to stay silent. Pulling the colt out of the back of his pants, he crept across the grass towards the shed door. He wouldn't shoot Sam, but he would use to the gun to control him. Even if Sam didn't remember his human life, he would surely have heard of the colt. If they could just get him out into the open, Bobby and Dean could restrain him until they had him in the boot of the car. How they would get him from the car to the panic room, Dean didn't know. Perhaps Anna would be amenable to helping them out.

He eased open the shed door and looked inside. There were no windows, but the dim dawn light from outside illuminated the shadowy outline of someone standing in the corner. Dean couldn't see his face, but he knew that tall form anywhere. It was Sam.

He didn't think. The fact that this was a demon now didn't occur to him at all. All that mattered was that it was Sam and he was back. He spoke in a whisper. "Sammy?"

In response, there was a snarling sound and the shadow lurched towards him.

* * *

><p>Sam stayed cowering in his hiding place as the demon's voices and laughter faded. He allowed himself to hope that he had evaded them for a while when he heard something new. It was a gasp of shock followed by a shouting voice.<p>

"Mom! Get out here!"

"What's… My god."

What stunned Sam was that he recognized the voices. It was Ellen and Jo. This was new. The demons had never used them to taunt Sam before. It was always Dean and Bobby.

"What happened?" Ellen asked.

"I just found it like this. We have to call Dean."

Dean was coming! That was both a disappointment and relief. He knew what to expect from the demon-Dean. It was always the same accusations and remonstrations. He would lay blame at Sam's feet for sending him to Hell and would accuse of not caring about him, for not saving him sooner. It was painful but familiar.

He heard the sound of dialing and a moment later, Ellen spoke in a rushed voice. "Bobby, you have to come!" There was a pause and then she said, "Sam's back! He's back. Bobby" Sam's back!"

So, that was their plan. Sam was supposed to believe he'd been saved. He had to give them credit. It was a masterful plan. It would have been torturous for him to believe it only to learn the truth, but he wasn't fooled. They could say what they wanted, but he wouldn't believe them; demons lied.

He scrunched himself further into the corner of his hiding place and waited.

It could have been weeks later, it could have been minutes, before he heard voices again.

"Awww, hell." That was Bobby's voice. He recognized it instantly.

Then came another voice, a voice that made him ache with its familiarity. It was Dean. He didn't listen to what the voice was saying, he'd heard it all before, he just listened to the way it rose and fell, sounding so much like the real Dean.

The other voices came and went, but Sam listened for Dean's. He knew it was stupid, the demons would find him if he made a sound, but he crept forward slowly until his ear was against the door.

He could hear them clearly now, and he heard Bobby as he said, "The panic room is still set up for interrogating demons. It's got everything we need in there to keep him safe."

What was the panic room? And what did it have to do with Sam? Was this a new torture they'd devised for him? Sam skittered back to his corner, brushing against something as he did. The sound of metal scraping against metal sounded too loud in the enclosed space, and Sam held his breath, praying that they wouldn't hear.

It was too late, they'd heard. He heard them discussing the sound and then there was light at the door.

Sam scrunched back into the corner and waited for the hands to grab at him, twisting and burning the way demons did, but it didn't come. Instead, there was a shadowy figure in the light, and a voice spoke to him. "Sammy?"

That was it. It was too much. One person called him that, and it wasn't this black-eyed bastard.

Sam lurched forward, snarling deep in his throat, with his hands outstretched.

* * *

><p>Dean's breath huffed out of him in a whoosh as weight collided with him. For a delirious moment, he thought Sam was embracing him, but as the figure plowed into him, knocking him to the ground, he realized this wasn't an embrace; it was an attack.<p>

Stunned, he let himself fall back to the ground without resistance. He was still trying to make sense of what was happening when Sam drew back a fist and cracked him across the cheek. His head snapped to the side and he felt his cheek grind against his teeth.

Sam straddled him, pinning him down with his knees on Dean's shoulders. Even if he had the will to fight him off, he wouldn't have been able to. Sam was just too strong. Sam drew back his fist again and landed a hard punch on his jaw.

Dean heard voices shouting and he saw Bobby appear behind Sam, trying to drag him away, but Sam shoved him away and he fell back to the ground.

Jo was screaming and Ellen was helping Bobby to his feet and still Sam beat down on Dean. He tried to catch his fists, to stop the onslaught, but Sam dodged him.

Dean looked up into his brother's eyes and saw pure hatred there. They weren't black, but that made it harder. He still looked so much like Dean's Sam. He would rather have been looking into the onyx black that showed Sam's demonic side.

Dean had never seen Sam so angry; not when arguing with his father the night he'd left for Stanford, not even faced with the Trickster that had made him experience Dean's death over and over again, not even when he faced Azazel. Sam had never hated anyone as much as he now hated Dean. He couldn't bear it. Part of him wanted Sam to land a blow that would knock him unconscious so that he wouldn't have to face that truth.

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Bobby draw back a foot and kick Sam hard in the chest. Sam tumbled back, freeing Dean. He remained on the floor, panting for breath, until Bobby's voice cut through the sound of struggles and wordless snarls from Sam.

"A little help here, Dean!"

Dean struggled to his feet and looked over at Bobby. Sam was pinned on the floor with Bobby's knee pressing into his back. Ellen was holding the back of Sam's head, pressing it down into the dirty ground. Sam was breathing heavily through his mouth in the human equivalent of a growl.

"What the hell are we going to do with him?" Bobby panted.

"Devil's trap," Jo said. "Mom's got on laid down under the rug in the kitchen."

Sam bucked under Bobby's grip and almost dislodged him. Dean hurried to his side, adding his own weight to Sam's back. He felt sickened by what he was doing, holding his brother down like an animal, but that was how he was behaving.

"Hurry," Bobby said breathlessly.

Jo darted into the house and Dean heard the grinding of the table against the floor. After a minute, she came to the kitchen door. "It's ready."

Gripping Sam's wrists, Bobby dragged them round so they were pinned behind his back. Sam struggled once more and then seemed to become boneless. He lay on the ground, with his arms twisted in a half-nelson and his face pressed against the muddy earth.

Slowly, expecting him to come back to life at any minute, Dean released his weight from Sam's back and helped Bobby drag him up. If Sam had been human, it would have been excruciatingly painful for him to he held as he was, but the demon didn't even flinch.

Jo had set a chair in the centre of the devil's trap, and Dean and Bobby dragged Sam to it and forced him down. Though he didn't struggle, it was still hard to maneuver him, as he seemed to have become as stiff as a statue.

"Get something to tie him up!" Bobby commanded and Ellen disappeared to the shed for a moment, coming back with a thick coil of rope.

Dean and Bobby held Sam in place while Ellen and Jo coiled the rope around his chest, binding him to the chair. Throughout it all, Sam didn't move; he just stared out ahead of him as if they were all below his notice.

When they stepped back, Dean waited for Sam to move, but he remained still. Looking across the room.

"I don't know about you," Bobby said. "But I need a drink."

Ellen nodded and Bobby and Jo followed her into the bar.

"You coming, Dean?" Bobby asked, pausing at the door.

Dean shook his head. "Someone should stay with him."

Bobby nodded and disappeared, and Dean and Sam were left alone.

Dean looked down at his brother and took in the familiar features. His shaggy hair was tangled from the melee and streaked with mud, as was his face. His face, that was usually so animated with whatever emotion he was feeling at the time, was blank and indifferent. It was all Sam but not really.

Dean swallowed thickly. "Sam, I don't know if there is any part of you that cares anymore, but I'm so sorry for what happened to you. I never meant for this to happen. I thought I was saving you making that deal. If I could do it all again…" He couldn't finish. A lump had formed in his throat, blocking his words.

If he could do it all again, he would have left Sam dead after Jake had stabbed him. He would have left Sam in Heaven rather than dragging him back to this nightmare of a world. It wasn't for himself that he would do it, he didn't care about going to Hell, his brother was worth the sacrifice, it was to protect Sam from becoming this thing. His brother's soul should be at peace now, rather than becoming this twisted and corrupted thing.

In response to Dean's outpouring of guilt, Sam bowed his head and looked down at his knees. It was as if Dean's words were beneath his notice, as if Dean himself was.

There was movement at the door and Dean turned to see Ellen and Bobby coming into the room.

"Take a break," Bobby said. "Jo could probably use someone to talk to."

Glad of an excuse to get away from Sam for a minute, Dean left the room and walked into the bar. Jo was sitting at a table with a bottle of beer open in front of her. Her elbows were resting on the table and her face was in her hands. As Dean drew closer, he saw that her shoulders were shaking.

"Jo?"

In response, she raised her head and looked up at him with a tear-streaked face. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean frowned. If there was anyone here without reason to apologize, it was Jo. She and Ellen were guiltless in this disaster. The blame was all to be laid at Dean and Bobby's feet, and Bobby even less than Dean. This whole mess was Dean's fault. He had set this ball rolling with his deal.

"I should have stopped him," Jo said in a choked voice.

Dean sat down opposite her and rested his head in his hands. "You didn't know, Jo. None of us knew this would happen."

She shook her head. "We should have known. We're hunters. We should have told Bobby he was here. We should have stopped him going to the crossroads. If he hadn't made his deal…"

Dean shook his head. "It's not your fault. Sam was determined, there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

"I just… I can't believe that's Sam in there. He's almost feral."

"Yeah, it takes some time to wrap your head around it; I know that better than anyone. It's what demons are though, animals. It kills me that Sam is one of them now."

"After you died," Jo began. "He was broken. His was in so much pain you could see it in his eyes. Everything in him hurt, but he would still try. He would ask me about my hunts and sometimes he would smile. You always knew he was forcing it, but he did it for us. I can't believe the man that did all that for us is tied to a chair in our kitchen now. It seems impossible."

Dean knew what she meant. He had a lifetime of memories of Sam, he had practically raised him, but the man he'd known was gone and this monster was left behind. It was physically painful for him to admit it, but it was the truth. His Sam was gone and there was no getting him back. There was no way to cure a demon.

There was movement at the door and Bobby peered in. "Dean, you got a minute?"

Jo got to her feet. "I'll go wait with Mom and… him."

When she was gone, Bobby turned to Dean and asked, "What do you want to do, Dean?"

That was a loaded question, Dean thought. What he wanted to do more than anything was to climb into the car and drive away from this place and that thing in the kitchen. He couldn't look into his brother's face and see the loathing there. He couldn't bear it.

"I don't know," he said miserably.

"I hate to say it, but I don't think our plan to get him into the panic room is going to cut it. You saw him in there, he's wild, and I can't…" Bobby faltered then took a deep breath. "I can't spend the rest of my life looking at him like that. It's so wrong. It's Sam but not, and the way he looks at us…"

"I feel the same, but I don't know what else to do."

Bobby looked apologetic. "We've got the knife."

Dean shook his head jerkily. "I can't do that, Bobby. I can't kill him."

"We could exorcise him. Send him back where he came from. "

The idea appealed to Dean. At least that way Sam's body would be at peace, even if his soul wasn't. It was the best of a hellish situation. He couldn't do anything to help his brother, not anymore, but he could ensure that part of him was unsullied. They could protect Sam's body from further possession with devil's traps.

"We have to," he said. "I can't have it walking around in Sam's body. I want at least part of him to be at peace."

Bobby nodded understandingly. "We can at least do that much for him."

"Just give me a minute," Dean said. He walked out to the car and leaned against the hood for a moment. He knew he needed to go back inside and face his brother again, but he needed to brace himself first. He stared up at the sky and thought of the dreams of Sam he'd had. He would never have that comfort again. He would never be able to see his brother as human again, not now he'd seen the demon.

He trudged back into the kitchen and took in the sight before him. Sam was sitting motionless in the chair with his chin still resting on his chest. Ellen and Jo were standing against the counter. Jo was leaning her head on her mother's shoulder and Bobby was standing behind Sam. Dean guessed it was easier for him when he didn't have to look Sam in the eye.

Bobby looked at him. "You ready for this?"

"Sooner the better," Dean said firmly.

Neither Ellen nor Jo asked what they were talking about, which made Dean sure Bobby had explained to them what was going to happen.

Bobby began to chant the Latin needed to exorcise the demon from Sam's body, and Dean paid attention to the words, trying to block other thoughts from his mind.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus."

They would need to get another coffin and bar it against demons.

"Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."

Maybe they should move Sam's grave, too. He had been violated here. They could take it to Bobby's property so he would be close enough for them to keep an eye on him.

"Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus."

Dean braced himself, ready to see the smoke that was his brother's tortured and corrupted soul leaving his body.

Bobby took a deep breath. "Audi nos."

_Goodbye, Sam. _

Dean held his breath, waiting, but nothing happened. Sam remained still and silent in his chair.

"Did you say it wrong?" he asked.

Bobby shook his head. "No, I've said that exorcism more times than I can count. It was perfect, every word of it."

"You think he locked himself in?"

Bobby sighed. "I guess he must have."

Stepping forward gingerly, Dean reached out and touched his brother's arm, prepared to jump back at any moment, but Sam didn't move a muscle. He stayed silent and still. Dean lifted his arm and shoved back the sleeve. There was no mark on his wrist, not even the mottled scar that used to be there from the last time Sam'd been possessed—when Bobby had burned away the mark with a red-hot poker. He checked the other wrist, but it was just as clear. Now Dean was looking carefully, he noticed that all Sam's visible scars were gone. He wiped the dirt away from Sam's knuckles and saw the skin, previously scarred and mottled from fights, was smooth. The previously crooked fingers, from the time Dean had accidentally shut Sam's hand in the Impala's door when they were children, were straight.

"Scissors," he snapped, turning to Ellen.

She rooted in a drawer and handed him a large pair.

Still wary of Sam playing possum, Dean stepped behind him and cut down the middle of the shirt Sam had been buried in. He shoved it away from his shoulders and stepped back hurriedly, staring in shock at his brother's left upper arm. There was a raised mark there, like a burn, in the perfect shape of a hand.

"What is that?" he breathed.

"Dean…" Bobby sounded stunned. "Look at this."

"I'm looking, Bobby," Dean said, his eyes not moving from the burn on Sam's arm.

"No, Dean, look at _this_."

Dean stepped around the devil's trap and came to a standstill in front of Sam. His shirt had fallen down his arms, baring his upper chest to their eyes. Dean looked for what could be making Bobby sound so stunned, but other than the absence of scars, there was nothing different to see.

"His tattoo," Bobby said. "Look at it."

Dean looked, his brow furrowed with confusion. "I see it. It's…" He trailed off as understanding dawned. His tattoo was there, intact. His anti possession tattoo, the thing that stopped him being possessed by a demon, was still there.

"My god…" he said in a whisper.

There was a rustling sound behind them but Dean didn't turn. He was transfixed by his brother.

"How can it be there?" he asked. "It's not possible, unless we're wrong."

"But…He…How?" Bobby seemed incapable of forming a sentence.

"You are wrong," Anna stepped into view, walking into the devil's trap and laying a hand on Sam's shoulder. "This is not a demon."

* * *

><p><strong>Sooo… that's one question answered for you. I know a couple of you were leery of reading a Demon!Sam story, and I am sorry for the misdirection in Going It Alone, but it was just the way the story evolved. <strong>

**I was blessed with some wonderful readers and reviewers in Going It Alone and I sincerely hope they have followed Sam and Dean here again. If you did enjoy the chapter, please take a moment to leave a review. It means more to me than I can say to know people are enjoying what I write, and I love chatting with you all. **

**Until next time, take care. **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow… you guys blew me away with the response to the first chapter. I'm over the moon that so many of you are enjoying the story already. Now my only fear is that I am going to disappoint you with the rest. I received two lovely anon reviews that I couldn't reply to, so thank you to Dolly and Julia for sharing your thoughts.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Chapter Two<em>**

Anna's words sank in slowly.

He wasn't a demon. When Bobby had kicked him, shoving him away from Dean, it had been Sam. When he had been pinned to the ground, struggling to get free with his face pressed into the dirt, it had been Sam. When they had put him in a devil's trap and tried to exorcise him…

Dean's stomach rolled with nausea and he swallowed reflexively. It was Sam, his Sam, his human, good brother. How could he have got it so wrong? His eyes found Bobby's and he saw that Bobby looked just as sick as he felt.

"But they told us," Bobby said desperately. "Alastair and Lilith, they told us he was a demon."

Anna pushed her long hair away from her face and sighed. "Demons lie."

And Dean had believed. He had believed too easily. He should have believed in his brother.

He heard a quiet sob and he looked at Jo. She was nestled in her mother's arms and tears were making a steady path down her cheeks. Ellen looked beyond tears. She was staring at Sam with a look of wonder, trying to believe but scared it was all an illusion.

Dean felt the full weight of Anna's revelation settle over him and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the relief. He was back. Sam had come back to him. He had been freed from the pit and brought back to the world. This was some kind of miracle.

"How?" he asked breathlessly. "How is he back?"

"You really don't know?" Bobby asked disbelievingly. "You didn't make a deal?"

"In case you've forgotten, Bobby, I've been a little busy. I haven't had a chance to go to a crossroads in the last twenty-four hours."

He could tell Bobby didn't believe him, nor did Ellen or Jo. They were all looking at him as if expecting the hounds to come collect him at any minute.

"I didn't make a deal," he said earnestly. "It wasn't me."

In response, there was a soft chuckle. Everyone's eyes snapped to Sam; he was the one that had laughed.

Dean dropped to his knees in front of his brother and tried to catch his eye. "Sam! Sam! Sammy! Look at me!" he ordered.

Sam didn't even blink. He remained with his chin resting on his chest, staring down at his knees, but Dean was sure he had reacted. He had laughed. He had been laughing in response to what Dean had said.

Dean reached out a shaking hand and touched Sam's cheek. Sam flinched away from him, as if Dean's touch was repugnant. Was it because he knew it was all Dean's fault that this had happened to him? He'd made the deal to save Dean; did he blame him for what had happened to him?

Ignoring Sam's resistance, he lifted Sam's face to look into his eyes, but it was as if Sam didn't see him. He stared straight through Dean, his expression, always Dean's door into Sam's mood, blank and indifferent.

"What's wrong with him, Anna?" he asked.

"I…" She stiffened. "They're coming. Dean! You have to keep him safe. Don't let the angels take him."

"What?" Dean turned, ready to demand answers, but Anna was already gone.

Dean was at a loss. He would keep Sam safe, that was his job, but how was he supposed to keep him safe from angels? They were omnipotent dicks. How could he hide him?

There was one thing he could do. He took a knife from the block on the counter and made a cut across his palm. Clenching a fist to make the blood well in the wound, he daubed a sigil on the back of the door. He had only seen it once before, but he thought he had it right. He was about to find out, as he heard the rustle that portended an angel's arrival.

Castiel appeared behind Sam and he looked around the room, taking in the devil's trap and ropes binding Sam to the chair. "Oh, good, you found him," he said, nodding his approval.

"You knew about this?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"Of course I knew. I was the one to raise him from Perdition. That mark"—he pointed at the brand on Sam's arm—"is mine."

Dean's hands clenched at his side. "You raised him! You knew!"

Castiel tilted his head to the side. "Why are you upset? I thought you would be happy to see him again."

Dean started forward, his hands coming up to grip the lapels of Castiel's coat. "You brought him back but you left him in the ground! He had to dig his way out! Do you have any idea what that's like? He could have died!"

He heard Jo choke another sob.

Castiel broke Dean's grip easily and stepped back. "I was in something of a hurry."

"A hurry? You put my brother through that because you were in a hurry!"

"You seem to have forgotten the magnitude of what you have done in the face of your brother's return," Castiel said stiffly. "As you know, Sam was not the only one that was raised in the last day. I had to seek revelation. All angels are in a state of war now. I am sorry I was not there to ease Sam's passage into the world again, but I had more important things to be doing."

Dean hadn't forgotten what he'd done, but it had been eclipsed by the fact his brother had come back. What was Lucifer rising compared to that?

"You should have told me, Cas," he said. "I should have been there for him."

If he had known what was coming, he could have saved Sam the horror of waking in his own grave. He could have been there, ready to help him. As it was, Sam had woken in a coffin and been forced to dig his way out. Having done it himself, Dean knew what torture that was. How frightening it was, as you clawed your way through the earth, lungs burning for air. He knew that you grew more certain, the longer it took, that you would die in the attempt. And then the confusion and fear as you finally reached the fresh air and looked back and saw what you had done. The horror of seeing your own name on a roughly hewn wooden cross and the pain of realization that you had been dead.

"Why did he attack Dean?" Ellen asked.

Dean didn't need an angel to explain that to him. Of course, Sam had attacked him. If anyone was deserving of his wrath, it was Dean. He had put Sam in Hell in the first place.

Castiel didn't answer Ellen. Instead, he locked eyes with Dean and spoke reluctantly. "He didn't break, Dean. When I found him, he was still on the rack."

Dean felt a heavy weight drop into the pit of his stomach. Sam hadn't broken. He had been in Hell ten months, a century of Hell time, and he hadn't broken. He had suffered torment for every one of those years, at the hands of Lilith no less, and he had borne it. No wonder he wasn't talking.

"How…?" Bobby asked in a breathy voice. "That's not possible."

"I assure you I am not wrong. One of Lilith's lieutenants was working on him as I found him. We had to battle to free him."

Dean shook his head wordlessly. He couldn't process what he was hearing. He took in Sam's blank face, smeared with mud, and wondered at him. How could he have stood it? If Lilith was worse than Alastair… It didn't seem possible.

"Dean," Castiel said, "I need to speak to you alone. There are things to discuss."

"Leave," Dean said quietly, still looking at Sam.

"I don't understand."

"I said leave!" Dean rounded on the angel. "You left my brother to dig his way out of his grave. You don't get to be near him now."

"I understand that you are upset," Castiel began, "but there are more pressing matters than your brother to attend to now."

"Leave!" Dean shouted. "I don't want anything to do with you angels. Look at him!" He pointed to Sam, silent and still in the chair. "Look what you've done to him. Look what you've done to me! You know what happened, because I was doing what angels told me to do!"

"Uriel was a traitor. It was not our fault."

Dean was past caring. He strode across the room, clenching his fist to make the blood flow from the cut in his palm.

"No! Don't!" Castiel shouted, but it was too late. Dean slammed his hand against the sigil he had painted on the back of the door. A rush of white light burst through the room and Castiel was dragged away.

"What the hell was that?" Jo asked, sounding stunned.

"Angel banishing sigil," Dean said. "Memorize it. It has to be done in blood, but it gets rid of angels for a few hours."

"That was an angel?" Jo asked and Dean nodded.

Ellen rubbed a hand over her face. "The woman too?"

"That's Anna. She's something of a renegade."

Dean turned his attention back to Sam and he realized with a pang of horror that he was still tied to the chair. He pulled out his knife and started cutting at the ropes.

"What are you doing?" Bobby asked.

"What's it look like? I'm cutting him free."

"I don't like looking at him like that anymore than you do, Dean, but last time he was free he attacked you. Don't you think we should make sure he's okay before letting him loose?"

Dean looked at him incredulously. "You want me to leave him tied to the chair? Didn't you listen to what Cas said? He was on the rack, Bobby. For a hundred years, he suffered. Of course, he attacked. Wouldn't you? He's got to be confused as all hell and scared to boot. And then, when he's finally free, we tie him up again."

"And if he attacks again?"

"Then I take a beat down." Dean said simply.

Bobby raked a hand over his face. "He's not Sam, Dean, not right now. He's dangerous."

Dean's hands fisted. Sam didn't need to hear his only remaining father figure talking about him like this. He had already been through too much.

"Get out," he said through gritted teeth. When they merely stared at him blankly, he raised his voice. "All of you, get out!"

"Dean…" Bobby began.

Dean cut him off. "I don't want to hear it, and neither does he. You don't think he's Sam, that's fine, but you keep it to your damned self. He doesn't need to hear you talking about him like this. He's already been through hell. Leave me alone with my _brother._" His voice broke on the last word. His brother. He had his brother back.

Ellen laid a hand on his shoulder. "We'll be close if you need us."

Dean wanted to tell her that he wouldn't need her, that he didn't need anyone but Sam, but he could see the thinly veiled sadness in her eyes and knew she was suffering, too. For the weeks Sam had been here, she had taken care of him like a mother. It had to be hurting her to see him like this.

He nodded curtly as she and Jo cast Sam one last look and left the room. Bobby didn't move, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Dean.

"You don't have to do this, Dean. We can take care of him together. Sure, he's not Sam right now, but he can be again. We can take him back to my place and—"

"Lock him up?" Dean said brutally. "You thinking you can lock him in the panic room like you did me?"

"No," Bobby said sadly. "We'll take care of him."

Dean shook his head. He didn't need Bobby's help. He could take care of Sam on his own; he had been doing it since he was four years old. All they needed was each other; that was how it had always been. Dean had been alone for ten long months, and now he had his brother back, he wasn't going to let anyone or anything come between them.

Bobby sighed and plodded from the room. As the door closed behind him, Dean cut through the last of the ropes holding Sam in place. He braced himself for an attack, but none came. Sam remained still in his chair, leaning forward slightly as if still held by the ropes.

"It's just us now, Sammy," he said gently. He cupped Sam's cheeks in his palms and lifted his head again to look in his eyes. Sam stared right through him. "Please, Sam, look at me," he pleaded. "Please. I need you to look at me."

When Sam failed to respond, he raked his hands through his hair in frustration. He didn't know what to do. He didn't think his words were even reaching Sam. He had to find a way to connect with him.

He dragged a chair around from against the wall and straddled it, resting his chin on his arms across the back of the chair and looking at Sam.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I didn't mean for this to happen, any of it. You were supposed to be safe. I never thought you'd make a deal." He realized he sounded like he was blaming Sam, and he quickly backtracked. "Not that it's your fault. It's all mine. I should have left you in Heaven." He should have, but he couldn't regret the year of extra time he'd had with Sam because of that deal. If Sam had stayed dead, Dean would never have recovered. But it would have been better, as he secretly feared Sam would never recover from this. What would he do if Sam didn't come back from this? What would he do if Sam stayed locked inside himself forever?

"Sam," he said desperately. "Please just say something. Let me know you're in there. I need you. You're my brother."

Slowly, achingly slowly, Sam raised his head and looked at Dean. Really looked at him for the first time. He licked his lips and spoke in a hoarse whisper that Dean had to strain to hear.

"You are not my brother."

"Sam? It's me. Dean. You know who I am. You have to know who I am!" Dean's desperation made his voice hoarse. "Sam, please!"

Sam turned away from him and stared determinedly at the opposite wall.

Dean hid his face in his hands and his shoulders shook. He didn't know what to do. He didn't understand. Was Sam casting him aside as a brother or did he really not see who Dean was. Had a century of Hell broken him so completely that he didn't recognize his own brother? How was he supposed to fix that?

He heard soft voices murmuring in the bar, and he was glad that Bobby and the others had left him. He didn't want them to see his capitulation.

He raised his head and looked at Sam again. He was staring at the opposite wall, his expression indifferent. Dean had always been able to get a read on Sam from his expression, Sam was so open, but now there was nothing there. Dean wished more than ever that he could know what his brother was thinking. What was going on in that head?

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and he started and turned to see Anna. The sight of her sympathetic smile stole the last of his resolve and he spoke in a whisper. "He doesn't even know me, Anna. I don't know what to do."

"I'm so sorry, Dean," she said gently. "I wish there was something I could do to help?"

"Can't you mind meld with him or something? You can run in and out of my dreams easily enough."

She shook her head. "Sam isn't sleeping right now. There is nothing I can do to help him…" She smiled suddenly. "But I think I know someone who can."

Dean looked at her blankly. "Who?" If it was another angel, Dean was going to have to think long and hard before deciding whether or not to he risked it. His experiences with angels hadn't exactly gone well recently.

"Missouri."

Dean couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it himself. Missouri was psychic, _the_ psychic. She could read Sam's mind. She would know what he was thinking. If they just knew that, they could untangle what was going on in Sam's head and they could maybe help him. They would at least know if Sam was speaking in the literal sense when he said Dean wasn't his brother.

Anna crouched down in front of Sam and spoke softly. "Sam, my name is Anna. I'm an angel. I'm going to help you. Can you stand up?"

With jerky, puppet-like movements, Sam got to his feet. His expression didn't change, but he was at least aware enough of his surroundings to respond to commands. Dean wondered if this would be his life now, ordering his brother around to get him to do the most basic things. The thought turned his stomach.

Forgetting Bobby and the fact he would worry if they disappeared, he turned to Anna and said, "We're ready."

"This is going to feel a little weird," Anna said to Sam. "But it will be quick. Try to relax."

She placed a hand on Sam's bare shoulder and Dean's arm and then they were moving.

They came out in Missouri's front yard. Dean took a deep breath of the fresh air and looked at Sam. His brow was creased and he was looking around with confusion. Either the process of being moved or the change in his surroundings had connected with him somehow.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't respond, but his confusion was still evident. Dean hoped desperately that this was a sign of something changing.

At that moment, the door swung open and Missouri stepped out onto the porch. She clapped a hand to her face and swayed on her feet. "Sam?"

Anna materialized at her side and laid a steadying hand on her arm. She whispered something in Missouri's ear and Missouri nodded. She took a steadying breath and hurried down the steps. Coming to a stop in front of Sam, she reached up a shaking hand and touched his face. Dean called a warning, he was worried Sam might attack, but Sam didn't strike. He didn't even flinch back.

For a moment, Dean thought Sam was going to say something. He was looking at Missouri with a furrowed brow and his lips parted slightly, but then his lips pressed into a thin line and he looked over her shoulder. Dean's hopes were dashed.

"Come on inside," Missouri said softly, taking Sam's hand. Sam allowed himself to be tugged up the steps and into the house.

Dean remained frozen in place for a moment, and then he followed them into the house. Anna patted his arm as he passed and he took the comfort as it was offered. When they got into the lounge, Sam was sitting on the edge of the couch and Missouri was beside him, still holding his hand. Dean sank down on the armchair and buried his face in his hands. He tried not to feel resentful, but Sam seemed more engaged with Missouri than he did with his own brother, and that was just wrong. He barely knew Missouri, he hadn't seen her for years, and yet he was allowing her to touch him without flinching away. Why was it he could be like that for her but not for Dean?

Missouri shot him a contemplative look and Dean realized she had heard everything of his thoughts.

"Sorry," he said. "I can't help it."

She smiled knowingly. "I know you can't, and I don't blame you."

She patted Sam's hand and then laid it on his lap and got to her feet. "Come with me a moment, Dean."

Dean followed her into the kitchen. She turned suddenly at the door and pulled Dean into a fierce hug. Dean's breath huffed out of him and he returned her embrace tentatively.

She leaned back and looked him in the eyes, a wide smile curving her lips. "He's back!"

"Yeah, he's back." Dean smiled grimly. "Only, I don't know what to do next."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's been through hell, literal hell, and then…"

"What's happened to him?" she asked softly.

Dean raked a hand over his face. "He got out. The angels pulled him out. Well… almost. They pulled him out of Hell and got him back in his body but they left him in the ground."

She drew in a sharp breath. "You mean he had to…"

"Dig his way out? Yeah."

She shuddered. "That poor child."

"It's like he's broken," Dean said. "And I don't know what to do to help him. He said I'm not his brother. I don't know if that means he doesn't know who I am, or maybe he doesn't _want_ me as a brother anymore."

"Oh, Dean," she said sadly, shaking her head. "He'll always want you. He's just confused now."

"Can you hear him?" Dean asked. "His thoughts I mean."

She shook her head. "Not really. It's like flashes. I was never able to get much of a read from Sam. I think it's because of his own abilities. They protect him somehow."

Dean sighed and raked a hand over his face. Missouri had been his best hope. The only other option was Chuck, and Dean didn't know how his connection with them worked. Now he thought of it, he realized Chuck should have seen it all already. Why hadn't he warned Dean about Sam coming back? If he had, they could have avoided the whole exorcism thing. For that matter, why hadn't he warned Dean about what killing Lilith would unleash? Next time he saw him, he was going to punch him, archangel be damned.

"Don't give up yet," she said. "I may not be able to read his thoughts now, but I'm not completely useless. If Sam will let me, I can tell you what you need to know." Dean looked at her and she responded to his unspoken question. "Sam's mind protects itself. If he lets me, I can still read his mind. I just need him to open up."

That sounded simple enough for someone that hadn't been through what Sam had. He was wary of even making eye contact. Would he even be able to drop the walls enough for Missouri to see inside if he wanted to?

"We won't know unless we try," she said.

Dean followed her back into the lounge and stood beside Anna against the wall. Sam was sitting where they'd left him, sitting on the couch, staring down at his hands. When Missouri perched on the coffee table in front of him, he looked up at her and swallowed thickly.

"Sam," she said gently, "I need you to do something for me; I need you to trust me. You're safe here. No one is going to hurt you. We can take care of you, but only if you let us. Can you do that?"

For a moment, Sam stayed still, just watching her, and then he nodded slowly.

Dean was pleased to see he was engaging with Missouri. It gave him hope.

"Do you remember me?" Missouri asked. "Do you remember what I can do?"

Sam nodded again.

"To help you, I need to read your mind, but I can't unless you let me in. Will you let me in?"

Sam licked his lips. "What do I have to do?" His voice was hoarse, a bare whisper, but it was clearly audible in the silence of the room.

"You just have to relax and let me work," Missouri said gently. "It will feel a little uncomfortable, but try not to push me out."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

It was more communication than they'd got from him so far, and Dean was pleased. Sam didn't sound like himself still, there was too much hesitance for that, but at least he was responding. He couldn't be completely broken if he was talking, could he?

Missouri patted his hand again and then her eyes slid closed. "Okay, Sam," she said softly. "I'm going to be as gentle as I can."

Sam's face twisted as if he was in pain and his fingers clenched on his leg. Dean stepped forward, but Anna gripped his arm and shook her head. "Let her work," she said quietly. "It's the only way."

Missouri drew in a sharp breath and a sound like a moan escaped her. Dean wanted to tell her to stop, that it was too much, but the burn to know more overcame his instincts. He had to know what Sam was thinking, so he bit his tongue and remained silent.

After an indeterminable period of time, Missouri opened her eyes again. She looked at Sam for a long moment and her eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, child," she said softly. "You don't even know."

"Know what?" Dean asked in a rough tone. "What did you see?"

"He doesn't see. He can't see the truth anymore."

Did that mean he didn't see Dean for who he was? That was worse than if he just didn't want Dean anymore. That would be bearable as it would be Sam's choice. This was so much worse. If he didn't think Dean was his brother, who did he think he was? What was Sam thinking?

And then an idea occurred to him and his stomach rolled. He swallowed thickly against the nausea. Praying that his suspicions were wrong, he asked, "Missouri, does he think he's…? Doesn't he know?"

Missouri shook her head and looked at Dean. "He thinks he's still there."

Dean fisted his hands in his hair. This was worse, so much worse than if Sam didn't know who he was. If Sam thought he was still in Hell, how were they supposed to prove that he was back?"

Missouri wiped at her wet eyes and cupped Sam's cheeks in her hands. "You see it's wrong though, don't you? You see me and Anna? We weren't there. You're home, Sam. They saved you. You're free."

Sam drew in a quick breath and shook his head. "No!"

"Yes, Sam. They got you out. They saved you."

Some internal battle seemed to be raging inside of Sam. His hands were fisted on his lap and his eyes were closed. Dean wondered what to do or say, and not knowing, he stayed silent, watching his brother battle within his own mind.

Eventually, Sam's fists unclenched and he looked at Missouri. "Home?" he said softly. "I'm home?"

Missouri nodded and a tear slipped down her cheek. "Yes, Sam. You're home."

Sam raised his head slowly and looked at Dean. His gaze seemed to bore into Dean, making him feel that Sam was seeing right through him, knowing him. He allowed himself to hope for a moment.

Sam looked at Missouri questioningly, and she nodded. "Yes, Sam. It's Dean."

Sam bowed his head and started to cry.

* * *

><p>Sam was hunched over with his arms wrapped around his middle, crying like his heart was breaking, and Dean didn't know what to do. He stood motionless while his brother wept.<p>

Missouri wrapped her arms around him and shushed him, and Anna watched sympathetically, and still Sam cried. It was an outpouring of grief like Dean had never seen before, and he didn't know why. Sam was back, he seemed to believe that, so why was he crying? What was there to be sad about?

Missouri must have plucked the thought from his mind, because the next thing she did was ask Sam that exact question. Sam didn't seem able to respond through his tears, and Missouri looked helplessly at Dean, and then brought Sam's face up to look into his eyes. "Calm, Sam, this isn't going to hurt."

Dean deduced that she was going to read his thoughts again, and he waited with bated breath for the answer. She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating, and then breathed out in a sigh.

"No, child," she said gently. "He's not going back. Neither of you are. You're both safe now. Aren't you, Dean?"

Dean looked at her blankly. There was nothing safe about their situation. Angels were on their ass and Lucifer was free. Their world was about to come crashing down around them and the planet was going to roast, but if Missouri said that was safe, then Dean would agree.

"Yeah, Sammy, we're okay." Though he tried to infect his tone with something like confidence, it came out doubtful.

Missouri rolled her eyes. "The angels brought you back, Sam. Not Dean."

Sam looked up at her and he seemed scared to hope. "No deal?"

She shook her head. "No deal."

Finally, Dean understood. Sam thought Dean was headed back to the pit. It wasn't a baseless assumption, he had tried to save Sam with a deal after all, but it was a wrong one. For once, they had come out of this without consequences. Sam had been saved, and neither of them were bound for Hell this time.

Sam raised his head slowly looked at Dean, really looked at him. His eyes caught Dean's and stared into them as if he wasn't sure what he was seeing was real.

Dean smiled slightly. "Hey, Sammy."

Seemingly without thought, Sam pushed himself to his feet and stepped towards Dean. He raised a hand as if he was going to touch him. Dean waited, tensed for attack, but it didn't come. Sam stepped forward and threw his arms around Dean, fisting his jacket in his hands. Dean's arms came slowly round to return the embrace, sure at any moment Sam was going to bolt. Only when he had his arms round his brother and was feeling the warm weight against his hands did he exhale a sigh of relief.

Sam held him for an indeterminable amount of time, and Dean relished the relief. Sam was back. He was holding his flesh and blood body in his arms with its pounding heart and shaky breaths. He wasn't a corpse, he wasn't a demon, he was just Sam.

Eventually, Sam pulled back and looked down at his bare chest. Dean noticed for the first time that Sam was still shirtless and smeared in dirt from his own grave.

"Yeah, I've got your duffel in the…" Dean trailed off as he realized the Impala, along with his cell phone, was back at Bill's. "Not here," he finished lamely.

Missouri laughed. "Well, Dean, lucky for your brother, you are terrible at packing. I have a couple of your things in your old room still."

Sam looked at him, probably wondering why Dean had a room at Missouri's. That was a conversation for another time. For now, they had to get Sam into some clothes and get him back to Bill's. Bobby had to be losing his mind.

Missouri disappeared up the stairs and came back a moment later with clothes in her hand. One was a plaid shirt that would be too small over Sam's broad shoulders, but the other was perfect. It was Sam's own hoodie. Dean had taken it from Sam's duffel one night when he'd been working late in Missouri's neighbor's yard.

"Missouri," Sam said softly. "You mind if I clean up?"

"Of course not. The bathroom's in the hall."

Sam took the hoodie from her and walked from the room. Dean drew a shaky breath, closing his eyes and absorbing the relief for a moment. He felt a hand on his arm and he opened his eyes to look at Missouri. Contrary to his overwhelming relief, she still looked troubled.

"What's wrong?" he asked, feeling a prickling on unease in his stomach.

"Come with me," she said softly.

He followed her into the dining room, where she usually met with her clients. She bent to a cupboard and pulled out an adder stone. "He'll need this," she said.

Dean nodded and reached for it but she caught his hand and gripped it.

"Missouri?"

She looked at him with an intense look in her eyes. "Sam's back, and I'm so happy for you both, but there are things you need to know.

"What do you mean?"

"Sam is free, half your battle is over, but the other half is just beginning. His mind is chaotic. Your brother has been through so much. He's not just going to bounce back from that. You're going to need to take care of him, be the big brother again, or he will become lost."

Dean felt a thrill of unease settle over him. "How bad is it going to be Missouri?"

She didn't answer. She merely patted his cheek gently and said, "Be strong, Dean."

Dean nodded, trying not to show how rattled he was. He pocketed the stone and went back into the lounge to wait for Sam. He came in after a few minutes, cleaned up and wearing the hoodie with his hands stuffed into the pouch pocket. Dean eyed him covertly, wondering how this chaos in his mind was going to present itself.

"We better get back," he said. "Anna, you mind?"

She shook her head. "Whenever you're ready."

"Thanks, Missouri," Dean said fervently. "For everything."

Missouri smiled. "You're more than welcome. All of you. If you ever need somewhere… well, you know where I am." She seemed to be speaking more to Sam than any of them, but for his part, Sam seemed not to notice; he was looking down at the floor.

"We ready?" Anna asked.

Not remotely, Dean thought, but he nodded anyway, and then he felt the disconcerting sensation of being moved.

* * *

><p><strong>So… Cas was a bit of a tool in this chapter. I am a devout Castiel lover and I know his character might have pissed some of you off in this chapter, and for that I apologize, but let me explain my reasoning. Castiel hasn't fallen in this story. He is still a good little soldier of God and is merely doing what he is ordered to. That will change soon, so hold out for the Cas we all know and love. <strong>

**Thanks again for the overwhelming response to the first chapter. I wish I could hug you all. If you enjoyed this chapter, please take a moment to review. I love hearing from you. **

**Until next time… **

**CoM x **


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter Three_**

The heavily perfumed air of Missouri's lounge was left behind and a warm breeze played across Dean's face. He opened his eyes and looked around. They'd come out behind Bill's under the hot sun. Anna told them she had to go and then she disappeared.

Dean made towards the kitchen door, but then he realized Sam wasn't behind him. He turned and saw Sam staring at something behind Dean that was obviously upsetting him. Dean turned and saw what had caught Sam's eyes, and he bit back a groan. It was Sam's grave, with its disturbed earth and roughly hewn cross marking the place. Dean stepped in front of Sam, hoping to break his view of the spot, but Sam stared right through him. His breaths were coming in short pants and his color had faded to a grey pallor.

"Sam!" Dean said harshly, gripping his shoulder. "It's okay."

Sam shook his head jerkily, still breathing in those hard pants.

Dean gripped his head and forcibly turned his face so he was looking at Dean instead of the grave.

"You're okay, Sam!" In that moment, he sounded just like John Winchester at his most commanding. It worked. Sam took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at Dean.

"I'm okay," he said, stepping back and breaking Dean's grip on him. "I'm fine."

That wasn't remotely true, Dean knew. Sam was far from okay, but he didn't want to make Sam feel worse so he pretended he believed.

"Okay. You coming in? Bobby's got to be losing his head since we ducked out on him, and Ellen and Jo will want to see you."

Sam looked like a deer in headlights but he spoke calmly enough. "I just need a minute. You go on in, I'll be right behind you."

"You sure?"

Sam nodded.

Dean rooted through his pockets and pulled out the Impala keys. "Here, you can hang in the car."

Sam almost snatched them from his hands, and Dean felt a certain sense of foreboding. Would Sam take these and drive off, leaving Dean behind? He had to trust his brother. Sam'd had no control over anything but the strength of own cries for the last century. The least Dean could do was allow him a little time now.

Reluctantly, he patted Sam's arm, trying not to notice how his muscles bunched at the contact, and made his way into the kitchen. He was instantly glad that Sam hadn't wanted to come inside. No one had cleaned up in there. The devil's trap was still uncovered on the floor with the chair and rope at the center. Sam didn't need to see the evidence of his own 'exorcism'. Kicking aside the chair as he passed, he walked through the bar and into the hall.

Ellen, Jo and Bobby were sitting around a table with a mug of coffee each in front of them. Excepting Ellen's presence—she had been sitting with his dead brother then—it was the same scene Dean had come back to after he'd tried and failed to make his own deal to save Sam. Then, he had been heavy with grief and desperation. Now, he was light with happiness but still with a certain sense of trepidation for the future.

As Bobby caught sight of him, he lurched to his feet. "Dean! Where the hell have you been? What were you thinking taking off like that? I was…" He trailed off as Dean stepped into the room and Sam failed to follow. "Where's Sam?"

"In the car," Dean said. "He needed a minute."

"How's he doing?" Jo asked.

Dean sighed and crossed the room. Sinking down into a chair, he rubbed his temples. "He's… okay."

"You don't sound too certain," Ellen observed.

Dean shook his head. "No, I am." He didn't want to share his fears for Sam's state of mind with them. He didn't want them judging Sam. "He's snapped out of it now. Anna came by and took us to see Missouri. She was able to mind meld with him and get through to him."

"Get through to him?" Bobby said. "That don't sound good."

"He's okay now," Dean said again, "but he wasn't. He didn't believe it, Bobby. He thought he was still in Hell."

Ellen sucked in a breath between her teeth. "That poor boy."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I guess he thought it was another of the demons' tricks. That's gotta be why he attacked me. He thought I was a demon."

"But he's okay now?" Jo asked.

"He knows he's back." Dean didn't want to tell them about his reaction to his own grave. "And he's doing good. But he wanted a minute to himself."

Bobby sighed and scrubbed a hand through his beard. "That's understandable. God knows he's got enough to be thinking about."

"Did he say anything about what we did to him?" Jo asked tremulously. "The… exorcism?"

"No. I'm hoping he wasn't too aware of what was happening. He was pretty checked out at the time. If we're lucky, he'll have let it go over him."

Bobby huffed. "Yeah, 'cause when are we ever lucky?"

Dean didn't want to think about that. He hoped with all he had that when Sam had stopped struggling that had been him checking out of what was happening, but his pessimistic side doubted it. There was every chance that Sam had been completely aware as they'd tied him to a chair and chanted Latin over him. As if he hadn't already been through enough.

"He's taking a while," Ellen observed. "You think he's okay?"

Dean looked up at the clock above the bar and realized that too long had passed for Sam to just be needing a minute. He hadn't left, he would have heard the distinctive roar of the Impala's engine, but that wasn't entirely reassuring.

"I think I'll check on him," he said, getting to his feet. "Bobby, you mind if we go back to your place?"

Bobby looked surprised that he even asked. "Of course not. It's his home as much as anywhere." He handed Dean a set of keys.

"You don't think he's coming in?" Jo asked forlornly.

Dean looked apologetic. "I don't think so. He just needs a little time, Jo. As soon as he's up to it, we'll swing by and see you."

He made his way out of the bar through the kitchen, casting the devil's trap a scathing look as he passed, and out into the yard. He stopped for a minute as he crossed the threshold. Sam had been busy while he was inside. The grave, with its upturned earth, was now transformed. The clods of earth had been replaced in a puzzle of grass. It was still obvious that the ground had been disturbed, but it looked much better that it had. The cross bearing Sam's name was gone, and as Dean looked around, he saw the broken pieces of wood had been tossed into the bushes.

Dean sighed to himself as he imagined Sam doing all of this. He understood the impulse, the less evidence there was of what had happened the better, but he wished Sam had just let it be. It couldn't have been easy for him to do it.

He walked around the side of the bar to the parking lot. Sam was leaning against the car, with his hands stuffed in his pockets. As he heard Dean's footsteps on the gravel, he turned and unlocked the door and climbed in. Dean wondered why he had waited, but he didn't question it. If Sam wanted to talk, he'd talk.

He got in behind the wheel and waited as Sam settled in, scrunching himself down in the seat as much as his tall frame would allow.

"We're heading back to Bobby's," Dean said. "That okay?"

"Sure." Sam said quietly.

Dean turned the key and the engine rumbled to life. Dean smiled slightly as his eyes strayed to the side to see Sam sitting beside him. There was a lot wrong with the image, Sam's expression was dour and the radio was silent, but it felt good to be back on the road with his brother.

He wished Sam would say something, let Dean know what he was thinking, but he didn't know how to say that without sounding like he was pushing. Sam needed space and time to think, he knew that. He had felt the same after he'd got back. He'd had time to process as he'd walked the miles from the forest to the fill up joint, and then the hours of driving to Bobby's. Sam just needed the same. Not only had he been sprung from Hell and had to dig his way out of his grave, he'd had his friends and family essentially attack him, thinking he was a demon. It was a lot to come to terms with.

* * *

><p>They drove in silence for about half an hour before Sam cleared his throat. "So, angels, huh. Is that for real?"<p>

"Yeah, angels," Dean said, relieved Sam was talking. "Took me a while to wrap my head around the idea of them too."

"That Anna, she was really an angel?"

"Kinda. She's an angel but she's fallen. She like a rogue angel. She's okay though. Unlike some of them."

He chanced a glance sideways and saw Sam's brow was scrunched with confusion.

"I've only met a few, and one of them, Uriel, was a prize dick. He's dead now. Anna killed him. There's this other one, Castiel…"

"He was the one that came to Bill's before, the one that said he saved me?"

Dean cursed quietly. He had hoped Sam would have missed that appearance, seeing as he'd been checked out at the time. Did that mean Sam had been aware for all of it? Little though he wanted to know that answer, he asked, "So, you remember that, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam said heavily. "I remember."

"Sammy, I'm so sorry," he said. "We'd never have done that to you if we'd known."

Sam shrugged. "Makes sense. People don't just climb out of their own graves. You had to think I was something messed up."

"It wasn't just that. We'd been told months ago that you were a demon now. We thought they'd hooked you up with your old meat suit."

"Who told you that?" Sam asked curiously.

"Lilith and Alastair," Dean said. "Alastair is—"

"I know who Alastair is," Sam said darkly. "He would… I would see him sometimes when Lilith was gone."

Dean's heart sank. Even when Lilith was out, breaking seals, Sam hadn't had a moment's peace. "They were just screwing with us," he said. "But they told us you were back as a demon."

"That takes centuries," Sam said dully.

"They said you had something of a head start…"

Sam was silent for a long moment and then he sighed. "Demon blood."

"You knew?" Though he tried to hide it, Dean's question came out accusatory. He was surprised that Sam had known about it but had never told Dean. He also noted that Chuck had omitted that from the books.

"Since Cold Oak," Sam said. "I told you Yellow-Eyes showed me stuff; that was part of it."

"Yeah, well Cas took me bouncing through time, and he showed me that night."

"Time travel, huh," Sam said. "That's some pretty impressive friends you've made yourself, Dean."

"I wouldn't call them friends," Dean said. "Except Cas maybe. Though if it came down to it, I'm pretty sure he'd chose orders over me. They're like soldiers, see? Not remotely the fluffy, harp carrying cherubs you were thinking of. There was this one hunt, a badass demon, and Uriel was all gung-ho about taking out the town to stop it. He acted like it was a damn vacation for him."

Sam looked across at him. "That kinda sucks. All this time I'd been thinking I was praying to something greater than me, but you're telling me they're just as corrupt as humans."

Dean could almost feel the weight of Sam's disappointment. He felt like a dick. After everything Sam had been through, he had now lost his faith, too.

"Don't give up on it, Sam. I know the angels are feathered dicks, but that doesn't mean the God thing is worthless. For all we know, God hates them, too. They did at least one thing right. They saved you."

"Yeah, they saved me."

Dean wondered whether he should tell Sam they were going to save him too before Sam made the deal. He decided against it. Sam didn't need to think his century of Hell had been for nothing. It hadn't been nothing. It had been the most incredible thing anyone had ever done for Dean.

Sam scooted impossibly lower in his seat and leaned his head against the window. He looked deep in thought, so Dean stayed quiet. Though he had a hundred questions for Sam, he let his brother think. There would be plenty of time to talk later. His thoughts turned to the more negative aspects of the last couple of days, namely Lucifer. How was he supposed to tell his brother what he'd done? Sam had enough to face, being brought back the way he had; he didn't need to hear what a screw up Dean had made of his life alone. They would come up with a plan for Lucifer, together, when Sam was ready. Until then, he would just focus on helping his brother through it all.

"You okay, Dean?" Sam asked softly.

Dean started and raked a hand over his face. "Yeah, I'm fine. You okay?"

Sam was silent for so long that Dean turned his eyes from the road and glanced at his brother.

"No," Sam said eventually. "I'm really not."

"You want to talk about it?"

Sam shook his head. "No. Do you?"

Dean huffed a laugh. "I've got nothing to talk about, Sammy. You're back. We're all good."

He couldn't tell him the truth, Sam had already been through too much for any one person to deal with. He just wanted to enjoy the fact his brother was back for a while before dealing with everything else.

"Okay, Dean," Sam said quietly. "We'll talk when you're ready."

Dean knew with that simple sentence that he hadn't fooled Sam a bit; he knew there was something seriously wrong, but he wasn't pushing for more, for which Dean was grateful. He just wanted his brother to have a couple of day's peace before he was thrown into the mess Dean had created. Just a couple of days. Was that too much to ask for?

* * *

><p>Sam knew Dean was hiding something, and he guessed it was something big, but he didn't push for more. He knew he <em>should<em>, but he wasn't ready. All he seemed capable of doing was sitting quiet in his side of the car and watching the scenery rushing past.

They were heading to Bobby's place, and sooner or later, Bobby would meet them there, and Sam would have to face him. He wasn't quite ready for that, but he would be. He just needed a little time.

Everything was overwhelming him. He hadn't been able to go into Bill's to see Ellen and Jo. He'd known he should, he owed them more than he could ever repay, but he hadn't been able to force himself inside. Seeing his own grave had seemed to steal the last of his reserves of courage from him. He'd pieced it back together as best he could and destroyed the marker, but he hadn't been able to wipe the image from his mind.

What he wanted now, more than anything, was to curl up in bed and hide from the world for a few days, or months maybe.

They eventually came to Sioux Falls. Dean slowed the car as they came onto Bobby's road, and Sam looked around. He hadn't been here for… he didn't know how long. He had no idea how long he'd been in the pit. He only knew it felt like forever.

They drove under the wrought iron arch that proclaimed Singer's Salvage and up to the house. It didn't look like anything had changed from the outside, and Sam doubted anything inside would be different either. Dean pulled the car to a stop and climbed out. Sam stayed frozen in his seat for a moment, intimidated by the memories of the last time he was here. The echoing emotions of that day threatened to swamp him for a moment. He had been out of his mind with grief then, fresh from burying his brother; he didn't feel like much had changed except now his emotions were rolling for another reason.

Dean stuck his head in the open car door. "You coming in?"

Sam nodded and climbed out of the car, looking at his brother and remembering that it was over. He'd saved him. He was back now and so was Sam.

Dean unlocked the door and they walked in. Nothing had changed inside. It was all exactly as he'd last seen it. It was reassuring that nothing had changed within the house. Sam almost felt like the same man he'd been when this was the closest thing to home they knew, before Dean had been ripped apart by hellhounds and dragged to Hell, before Sam had made his own deal.

Dean eyed him as he looked around. "You want anything? You must be starving. I know I was when I… You know."

Sam shook his head. "I'm fine." He was hungry and thirsty, but most of all he was overwhelmed. "I am tired, though," he lied.

"Well, your bed's where you left it. You go get some sleep."

Sam smiled. "Thanks, Dean."

He felt Dean's pat on his back as he walked past him and made his way up the stairs and he tried not to flinch. When he got to the bedroom he and Dean usually shared when they were at Bobby's, he closed the door and flopped down onto the too small bed. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he curled in on himself and hid his face in his face in his hands.

He knew he should be downstairs, talking with Dean and waiting for Bobby. He should be untangling whatever Dean was hiding from him. But he needed just a minute to himself.

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter was a little light on the action, I know, but it was necessary to set the scene for the next where there will be a little more drama. Thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter. I think I replied to you all individually, but if I missed you, I apologize. <strong>

**Until next time…**

**CoM x **


	4. Chapter 4

**Happy Friday people. You are getting this chapter a day early thanks to JudyH — who offered me virtual donuts and pie for an early update. I've got a hell of a sweet tooth. **

**This chapter deals with some canon events. I tried to change it up as much as I could, but there is some dialogue taken direct from the show — thank you Supernatural Wiki.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Chapter Four<em>**

Anna sat on the bench, watching the children play. She was tensed and ready to flee at a moment's notice, as she always was these days. Life as a rogue angel wasn't exactly relaxing.

The angel chatter was a dull hum in her mind that she generally tuned out, but today she was listening hard. Since Sam Winchester had been saved and Lilith killed, the angels had been talking at length. She knew there was something she was missing, something vital, but they were careful not to talk about it; they knew she would be listening.

She heard a rustle beside her and she knew without turning which of her former family it would be.

"Hello, Castiel," she said.

"Anna."

"Have you come to drag me home for judgment?"

"No, I am here for… guidance."

She turned to face him and saw Castiel's usual mask of indifference was not in place. To see him and not know him, you would think Castiel was apathetic much of the time, but Anna knew it was an act. Castiel felt and cared more than was usual for an angel. He was devoted to their father though, and he hid much of what he felt as, for an angel, it was seen as a weakness.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Lucifer is risen," he said.

"I know."

"As is Sam Winchester."

She nodded. "I've seen him."

"How is he?" For the first time, there was inflection of emotion in Castiel's tone. It caught her off guard.

"You're worried about him?"

Castiel sighed heavily and looked out over the park, avoiding her eye. "I fear I may have done great damage."

"I think he'll be okay," she said. "He didn't believe he was back. He thought he was still in Hell."

Castiel looked downcast.

"Castiel, why did you save Sam?"

"Because I was ordered to," he said dully.

"But why? Of all the souls in the pit, why Sam and why now?"

"He wasn't supposed to be there. He was an innocent. He was there because of his deal to save his brother."

"Others are there because they chose to deal to save someone else," Anna said. "What makes Sam special?"

"Lucifer is risen."

"Yes, what does that have to do with… Oh." Anna's heart sank as she realized what Castiel was trying to tell her. "He's a vessel."

Castiel nodded. "Lucifer's. Dean is to be Michael's."

Anna felt the crushing weight of realization settle over her. After everything they'd been through, the universe was going to ask more of Sam and Dean Winchester. If anyone deserved to rest, it was them.

Then she heard it, like a voice on the wind. Dean was calling to her. She knew she should go to him, he needed her, but Castiel needed her more. She had a chance to get through to him, and she couldn't squander it.

Castiel stiffened for a moment. "Dean is calling to me."

"Are you going to him?"

Castiel shook his head.

"We must protect them," she said, getting to her feet.

"We cannot," Castiel said. "This is their foretold path."

"Like Dean freeing Lucifer was his path? You're wrong, Castiel. Dean was manipulated into doing that by angels and demons. If you had ever believed in the right thing, you would have warned Dean. Why didn't you?"

Castiel looked down at the ground. "I was not there. I was engaged in the battle to save Sam. I didn't know."

Anna's hands fisted. "What about the seals? Why weren't they better protected?"

"I did my best," Castiel said angrily. "I worked to save them. Our brothers and sisters died to save them."

"You didn't do enough," Anna spat. "I spotted the seal in Colorado and I warned Dean. Why didn't you?"

"I had no orders."

Anna understood. It wasn't Castiel's fault. He was just being a good little soldier. It was the archangels that were to blame here. "They didn't want to stop it, did they?" she asked. "They let Lucifer free."

Castiel bowed his head. "That, I believe, was their intention."

"They want the fight. They want Lucifer and Michael to destroy the world."

"To create a paradise," Castiel said. "We will live in a better time. You will be welcomed into the fold again, Anna, I am sure of it."

"You're wrong. There can be no paradise without humans. They are our Father's last and greatest creation, and you are going to see them destroyed! What about Sam and Dean?"

"They will be rewarded in Heaven," Castiel said doggedly.

"You can't believe that. You must know this is wrong. They have already given too much."

Castiel looked angry and Anna felt her own anger rise in her defense.

"Why have you come to me, Cas? You say you want guidance, and I am here to give it to you. Save Sam and Dean. Don't them be used for like this. Fight on the right side and save them from this fate."

"You would have me disobey?" Castiel asked darkly.

"I would have you do the right thing. You're an angel, Castiel, a soldier of God. Do what He would want and not what you are ordered."

She knew she wasn't getting through to him. He was still a good little soldier, even after all he'd seen. He would want to save them, but he would want to follow his orders more.

She turned away from him, distraught in her defeat. "Please, Castiel. Do the right thing." She looked back to see if her words had any effect, but he was gone, leaving her alone among the humans.

After a moment, she was gone too.

* * *

><p>Sam was upstairs sleeping, and Dean was resisting the urge to fall asleep himself. He was physically and emotionally exhausted after the events of the last couple of days, but he knew he couldn't sleep. Sam might need him.<p>

He got to his feet and poured himself yet another mug of coffee. He was just turning back to the couch in the library when he heard the rumble of an engine pulling up outside. A moment later, Bobby came into the kitchen and looked around. "Where's Sam?" he asked.

"Upstairs sleeping. He was kinda wiped."

Bobby looked disappointed but he nodded. "I guess he would be." He crossed to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. "You wanna sit down?"

Dean knew a heavy conversation was coming, and little though he wanted to, he sat down and braced himself for the onslaught.

He was prepared for questions about what had happened with Lilith, but Bobby caught him off guard. "How's he doing?"

Dean raked a hand over his face. "I don't know. He's better than he was, much better, but he's still not okay."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "I don't suppose he is. It's gonna take him time to be okay again."

"He's talking though. On the way back I told him about the angels and why we thought he was a demon."

"How'd he take it?"

"He already knew about the demon blood—Yellow-Eyes showed him when he had them all holed up for that death match. As for the angels…" Dean sighed. "I feel like a dick for telling him the truth. He had his faith before, but it sounds like he's lost it now."

"I doubt that was just the news of the angels that did that," Bobby said. "I imagine the last year did that to him equally if not more."

"Maybe. I still feel like a dick though."

Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. "How about the rest? Did you tell him about the seals breaking?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "No. I want him to have a couple days peace before I drop that bomb on him."

Bobby fixed him with an intense look. "What about me? Do I need a couple of days, too, or are you going to tell me what you meant about you killing us all?"

Dean cast his eyes down to the table. He knew he had to tell Bobby, he had to be warned, but he didn't want to admit what he'd done. He had to suck it up though. This was bigger than him and what he wanted; the world was at stake.

"I killed her, Bobby. Lilith, she's dead, but I screwed up. She wasn't breaking the last seal, she _was _the last seal. I killed her and I broke the seal. Lucifer was freed."

Bobby bowed his head. "Dammit, Dean."

"I'm sorry," Dean said plaintively. "I didn't know. I thought I was saving us all."

He was expecting Bobby's anger or even fear. He expected him to be ordered out of his house and life, but once again, Bobby caught him off guard. He just sighed heavily and said, "Tell me everything."

Dean told him it all. How Uriel had taken him to the chapel and instructed him to kill on sight. He told him how Lilith had taunted him, telling him that she had orchestrated Sam's deal. He told him the relief he'd felt as the blood had pooled around her that quickly turned to horror as Uriel had come again and told him what he had done. He told him about Anna killing Uriel and taking him away from the blinding light.

"And the rest you know," he finished.

Bobby got to his feet and picked up a bottle of whiskey from the counter. He poured a generous measure in each of their mugs and then took a deep swig from the bottle. "So, Lucifer is free," he said. "Don't suppose Anna had any idea of what he's going to be doing now he's topside."

Dean shook his head. "Nothing she told me anyway. I was kinda distracted."

"Okay," Bobby said. "We need to call her up again and get some answers. We need to know what the angels are doing about this. Lucifer is one of them, which makes this their problem."

Dean felt the first inkling of hope. Bobby was taking this much better than he thought he would, and he seemed to have something of a plan for dealing with it, too. Maybe this wouldn't be the end after all.

Dean raised his eyes heavenward and spoke softly. "Anna, it's Dean. I'm at Bobby's. I need help."

He waited, looking around the room, but no angel appeared.

"Maybe she's busy."

"You know what this means," Bobby said darkly.

Dean sighed, "Yeah, Cas. Let's hope he's not too pissed about the whole beaming-him-back-to-the-mothership thing." He cleared his throat. "Castiel, we need to talk." He waited but there was no fluttering sound and no one in the room but him and Bobby. "Damn."

"Okay," Bobby said. "That's the angel thing out. What else can we do?"

"We can try Chuck," Dean suggested. "He might have some insider scoop."

"You think?"

Dean shrugged. "He's the only lead we've got. He's the one with the prophet power-up. He might know something about Lucifer. I've been wanting to talk to him anyway."

Bobby looked at him darkly. "I get that you're upset, Dean, but you don't want to go pissing off the prophet. Don't forget he's got an archangel watching over him."

"I've not forgotten, Bobby, but I figure he owes us an explanation." He drained his coffee and got to his feet. "I'll just go check on Sam and we'll be good to go."

"You don't think we should bring him with?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, let him rest awhile before we throw him back in at the deep end."

It was more than that though. He did want his brother to get at least a little rest, but he also didn't want to have to see Sam's face when he heard that the world he'd been brought back into was in a worse state than the crap-storm he'd left behind. There was no need to break him further. He had enough to be dealing with.

The bedroom door was closed and he knocked lightly. There was no response, so he eased it open carefully. Sam was curled into a ball on his bed, facing the wall, his breaths coming in slow sighs. Dean was glad he was getting some rest.

He didn't want to wake him, so he pulled an old motel pad out of his duffel and jotted a note down saying that they'd gone to see an old friend and would be back soon. Satisfied that Sam would be okay if he woke, he closed the door behind him and made his way back downstairs to Bobby, not seeing Sam's wide eyes or the tears that were still drying on his face.

* * *

><p>By the time they got to Faith, it was dusk. It felt like the longest day of Dean's life. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. He felt like he could quite happily go to bed and stay there a week just processing it all, but his wants had never meant much, and there was a bigger picture here. He would do what he could to clean up this mess, just him and Bobby, letting Sam take what he needed.<p>

They pulled up in front of Chuck's house, and Dean saw the curtain twitch. Chuck was obviously expecting them. He climbed out of the car and scaled the steps to the door. Before he had even raised his hand to knock, it opened.

Chuck looked much as he had the last time they saw him, though the scent of whiskey sweating out of his pores was more potent.

"Ummm… Dean," he said awkwardly.

"Chuck," Dean said darkly. "Can we come in?"

Chuck stepped back and Dean and Bobby made their way inside. Chuck shut the door behind them and shuffled into the lounge.

"Now, Dean," he began, "I understand that you're angry, but—"

"Angry doesn't even begin to cover it," Dean said, fisting his hands at his sides. "You know what happened to him, what he had to do?"

Chuck nodded. "I do, and I'm sorry, but I couldn't help."

"Why not?" Bobby asked. "Your phone broke? Or maybe you were going for literary symmetry. One brother drags himself out of the ground, it's only fair the other does, too."

Chuck shuddered. "No. Honestly. It was the angels. They wouldn't let me warn you."

"And they stopped you how?" Dean asked. "I see your limbs are all attached, so it couldn't have been that bad? What threat was big enough that you couldn't warn me I was going to jump start the apocalypse?"

"Now, Dean," a snide voice said. "Don't be too hard on him. Chuck was just doing as he was told."

Dean spun on his heel and saw a heavy-set man with sparse hair and a smug smile. He was wearing a tailored, black suit and Dean knew, even without his unexpected appearance and words, that he was an angel. Only angels could look that self-satisfied.

"Nice to see you again, Chuck," the heavyset angel said.

Chuck looked terrified. He backed towards the stairs.

"By all means, make your escape, Chuck."

Casting Dean and Bobby an apologetic look, Chuck scrambled up the stairs.

The angel turned his attention to Dean and Bobby, "My name is Zachariah. I'm sure Castiel's mentioned me."

"Not once," Dean said.

Zachariah shrugged. "It's no matter. We will become better acquainted now. I am Castiel's boss, and you and I are going to become very good friends."

Dean grunted. He didn't see that happening anytime soon.

"I see Castiel has been overstating your magnificent conversational skills. No matter, I don't have need of conversation now. I only need a favor."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You think I'm going to do something for you?"

"Simple answer, yes," Zachariah said. "You are going to do exactly as we ask because that's what you do, Dean. We yank your chain and you run around doing what we want, even when you don't realize it."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "Last time I did what I thought the angels wanted, I let Lucifer free and screwed the world."

"You did," Zachariah said with satisfaction. "And for that, we thank you."

Bobby frowned. "You're thanking him?"

"Yes, Mr. Singer. I am. Thanks to your inherited progeny here, Lucifer has been freed."

Dean felt understanding creep over him. "You don't seem too bothered about that."

Zachariah smiled. "We're not. We're rejoicing. You're our new poster child, Dean. You have freed us all. We're going to have paradise on earth and it's all thanks to you."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment as he absorbed the truth. He had always known angels were dicks with wings, but he never imagined they would stoop this low. Now he saw it all, how they had orchestrated the whole thing. Everything he'd done, from the moment he'd met Castiel, he'd been manipulated into doing. That was why the seals broke, the angels weren't protecting them. That was what the bullshit about the righteous man was, a way to make him do what they wanted.

"I thought I was saving the world because of you. Cas told me the righteous man will finish it, I finished it. I killed her!"

"And for that we are all very grateful. We knew you would. We made you. Now, we have something else for you to do. We need you to lead our army against Lucifer. Well, technically, we need you to facilitate our leader, but the ends the same. You will save lives and defeat the bad guy. That's the sort of thing you live for, right?"

Dean started forward, wanting nothing more than to pound his fists against that smug face, but Bobby grabbed his arm and held him back.

Zachariah raised a finger. "You could try to attack me, but it wouldn't end well for you."

"What do you want from me?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"We want you to do us a little favor," Zachariah said. "Our general, Michael, has need of you. You are to be his shining stead into battle."

Dean looked at him blankly and Zachariah sighed heavily.

"It's not just your conversational skills that Castiel overestimated. He said you were clever. You're a vessel, Dean. The vessel."

"I'm an angel's meat suit?"

Zachariah nodded. "You're Michael's vessel. Now, say yes, Dean. Play your part. Help us to defeat the serpent."

Dean laughed as he realized what Zachariah was saying. "You need me to say yes, don't you? It's more than a case of hooking me up with your buddy Michael and watching the mojo happen, you need my consent."

"Them's the rules," Zachariah said with amusement.

"Well, you're not getting it. I am not saying yes."

"You will," Zachariah said. "Somehow, some way, I will make you say yes."

Dean shook his head. "I'll kill myself first."

"We'd only bring you back again. You know we can. We brought your brother back after all."

"Why'd you do that?" Bobby asked. "Why bring Sam out?"

"Call it a gesture of good will," Zachariah said.

Dean shook his head. "I'm doing nothing for you."

Zachariah sighed. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. Ethaniel, Uziah, if you would."

Two other angels appeared, locked between them was a struggling Sam. He looked pale and his eyes were wild. Dean cursed inwardly. The last thing Sam needed right now was to be hijacked from his home and dragged here by angels. He was just getting used to being back as it was.

"It's okay, Sam," he said, locking eyes with his brother. "They're not going to hurt you."

"Don't be so sure," Zachariah said dourly. "If you don't do as I ask, I will hurt him in ways not even Lilith imagined. Now, say yes."

Dean shook his head. "Never."

"Fine." He turned to Sam. "I didn't want to have to do this but your brother has forced my hand." He pointed his fingers at Sam like a gun and chuckled.

There was a sharp crack and Sam cried out in pain. He slumped in the angels' grasp and Dean saw that his legs didn't seem able to hold him. The angels released him and Sam dropped to the floor. Dean saw at once why Sam couldn't hold himself up. His legs were at broken, twisted into awkward angles.

"Sam!"

Dean and Bobby started towards him, but Zachariah stepped into their path.

"Now," Zachariah said, "say yes, or your brother will continue to suffer."

Dean looked at Sam. He was gripping his knees and drawing hissing breaths. Dean couldn't let him suffer more.

"What happens if I say yes?" he asked quietly. "What happens to the world."

"No, Dean!" Sam ground out through gritted teeth.

"Michael and Lucifer will fight," Zachariah said with fanatical enthusiasm.

"And how many humans die in the crossfire? A million? Five? ten?"

"Probably more," Zachariah said with complete lack of concern. "If Lucifer goes unchecked, you know how many die? All of them. He'll roast the planet alive."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing the words. "There has to be another way."

"There is no other way. There must be a battle. Michael must defeat the serpent. It is written."

Dean shook his head. "The answer's no. I am not saying yes."

Zachariah smiled. "So be it." He pointed at Sam again, and the next second, Sam was mouthing wordlessly. He didn't seem to be breathing."

Bobby thrust past Zachariah and dropped to his knees beside Sam. He laid a hand on Sam's chest, but Sam continued to gulp for air that he couldn't seem to draw.

"Now, that is your brother without his lungs. Want to see how he does without his heart?"

"You son of a bitch," Dean said angrily.

"Say yes and I will fix all of little Sammy's ills."

Sam had ceased struggling for air now. He was lying supine on the floor with hooded eyes. Dean was frantic. He didn't know what to say or do. He couldn't say yes, that would kill millions, but he couldn't let Sam die, not again.

He almost said it, the yes was on the tip of his tongue when bright white light filled the room. It poured from the throat of one of the angels that had been holding Sam, where the tip of a silver blade could be seen. The blade receded and the angel dropped to the floor, revealing Anna.

"You!" Zachariah spat.

"Yes, me," Anna said with satisfaction.

There was fluttering sound and Castiel appeared. In his hand was a long silver sword.

"Castiel! Kill her!" Zachariah ordered.

Anna moved so fast Dean couldn't see how she managed it. One moment she was staring Zachariah down, the next she was sliding her blade into the gut of the other angel.

"Now," Anna said. "Fix Sam and leave, or I shall kill you next."

"Castiel," Zachariah said stridently. "Are you going to let this renegade bitch talk to me like that, to threaten me?"

Castiel looked at him serenely. "I believe the renegade bitch has given you an order." He lifted his blade. "It's best you do as she says."

"You! Of all angels, you're falling! For what?" Zachariah asked. "For her or for the humans?"

Castiel shook his head. "For our Father's creations. For the right thing."

"Dean!" Bobby shouted. Dean turned away from the angels and saw the look of horror on Bobby's face. He was kneeling beside Sam with his hand on Sam's chest, Sam's unmoving chest. Cold, hard terror gripped him and he crossed the room, not caring about the angels and their confrontation, only caring that his brother was on the floor and he wasn't breathing.

"I think he's…" Bobby began.

Dean shook his head jerkily. "He can't be." He tapped Sam's cheek. "C'mon, Sammy. You can't do this again."

Sam's head rocked to the side and his cheek came to rest against the dusty floor.

Coming to his through the mist of panic, he heard Castiel's voice. "Step back, Dean."

Dean couldn't move though. He couldn't take his eyes from Sam's lax, slightly blue face. He knew what had happened though he refused to accept it. Sam couldn't be dead, not now, just as he'd got him back.

Strong arms gripped him and pulled him away from his brother's side. He struggled, but there was no resisting the strength of his assailant. He watched as Castiel knelt beside Sam and laid a hand over his chest. Bright, white light poured from his palms and Sam's eyes snapped open. He drew a heaving breath and looked around the room with wild eyes.

The hands holding Dean released him and he dropped down at his brother's side again. "Sam! Sammy!"

"I'm okay. I'm fine," Sam said in a breathy voice.

Suddenly, the room began to quake and the lights flickered. Dean recognized the signs from the night Lilith had come to deal with him.

Chuck raced down the stairs, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hands.

"What's happening?"

"Take them, Anna," Castiel said harshly.

"But you…"

Castiel's voice came out as a shout. "Take them."

Dean grabbed Sam's arm and dragged him towards the door, Bobby hot on their heels.

"What's happening?" Sam asked in a shaky voice.

"An archangel's what's happening," Dean said hoarsely. "Get in the car."

Dean threw himself in behind the wheel and gunned the engine. He checked that Bobby and Sam were in and then he slammed his foot down on the gas.

* * *

><p><strong>Sooo… I killed Sam… Again. In my defense, it wasn't my idea. Canon said he had to lose his lungs, I was just doing as I was told ;-) He's okay now though. All healed up and ready to go deal with the looming apocalypse… maybe… kinda… Okay, not at all. He's alive though and that's got to count for something, right?<strong>

**As always, thanks for reviewing. I appreciate hearing from you and love chatting about PUTP. **

**I posted a one-shot during the week called Left Behind. If you haven't already, check out my profile for it — and seventeen other stories. **

**Also… (this is turning into a heck of an author's note, isn't it?) … I got a PM a while ago with a prompt for a story that the reader wanted written. I am working on that plot now and it got me thinking. How many of you have stories that are waiting to be written but haven't got off the launch pad for one reason or another? Are there any of you that want to pass on a prompt to me? I am open to all ideas so stick your idea into a PM or review and I'll see what I can do for you. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	5. Chapter 5

**It's the weekend, which means it's update day, my favorite part of the week. Thank you all for the reviews, add and faves for the last chapter. I really appreciate it.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Five<strong>_

Sam had wanted to hide from the world, and for a while, he had been able to, lying curled in his bed, but reality had intruded in the form of two angels that had rousted him from his bed and dragged him away. He would have liked to go back to that bed and hide a while longer but he couldn't. He had to push down his fear and wants and face the world again, because something big was happening. Dean was in trouble, and he needed Sam to be strong.

He managed most of the drive back to Bobby's without any problems other than his racing thoughts, expect for the one occasion Dean turned to him and looked at him with demon-black eyes, but he stifled his reaction and when Dean blinked his eyes had gone back to green.

When they got back to Bobby's house, they trudged into the kitchen. They had passed the journey in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, but as they got inside the silence became heavy with trepidation.

"Anyone want a drink?" Bobby asked.

Dean nodded eagerly and pulled the glasses from the cupboard, but Sam shook his head. He didn't need alcohol to muddle his mind. It was already pretty chaotic.

He watched as Bobby and Dean got their drinks and settled in the library, and waited for someone to start with the explanations, but no one spoke.

Sighing, he sank down onto the couch and spoke up. "Can someone explain what the hell just happened?"

Bobby opened his mouth to speak, but Dean spoke over him. "We don't have to do this now, Sam. You take a knee for a while. We'll talk when you're back on your feet."

Sam understood that Dean was trying to protect him, but they didn't have time for him to be coddled. He didn't know what had happened to Dean after he'd been brought back, but he doubted there was much time for him to 'take a knee' before being dragged into the fight again. If Dean wasn't afforded that, why should Sam be?

"I am back on my feet," he said. "I'm fine."

"Maybe Dean's right," Bobby said. "You did just die, Sam, again. Let yourself take a minute to come to terms with that."

Sam shook his head briskly. "There is no time, Bobby, is there?"

Bobby stared into his eyes for a moment, judging his resolve and then he turned to Dean. "He's right. There's no time to ease him into this. He needs to know."

Dean grimaced. He looked like he would rather do anything than tell Sam what was happening, which made Sam think there was more to this than protecting him from bad news. Dean was hiding something big, and whatever it was, Sam wasn't going to like it. He thought he knew some of what they were telling him. He'd been pretty out of it with pain, seeing as both legs had been broken, but he'd definitely heard the names Michael and Lucifer. If that was what they were worried about, they needn't be. He knew now.

He sat down on the couch and clasped his hands between his knees, trying to look casual, as if he wasn't battling every instinct to run out the door and not look back. "So, that angel said something about Michael and Lucifer, is that for real?"

Looking dour, Dean nodded. "Yeah, Sammy, that's for real"

"The Devil?"

"The Devil," Bobby confirmed.

Dean and Bobby exchanged a dark look and Bobby nodded encouragingly.

"He was trapped," Dean said, "millennia ago, in a cage of sorts in Hell."

"But now he's free?"

Dean looked down at the floor. "Yeah. He's free."

Sam sucked in a harsh breath. "How? I mean, what happened?"

Dean raised his head slowly and looked Sam in the eye. In a voice that was little more than a whisper, he said, "I freed him, Sam."

Sam almost laughed. The idea was so ludicrous. How could Dean, a human, free the Devil? It just didn't made sense. But then he took in the desperation in Dean's eyes and he realized it wasn't a joke. Somehow, Dean had done it.

He took a deep breath. "Okay. What happened?"

"It was Lilith really," Bobby said.

Sam shuddered at the mention of her name. Lilith that had presided over him for so long he lost track of time. She had cut and sliced and burned him, flensing flesh from his bones until he was just a shell only for her to make him new and start all over again. He hated her. He would kill her.

Not noticing Sam's reaction, Dean shook his head. "No, it was me. Lilith was just a part of it. I'm the one that screwed it all up."

"You didn't know, Dean."

"I should have known. I should have listened to you."

Sam could see they were about to get into a long discussion of whose fault it was, and he needed his questions answered so he could participate, so he spoke over them. "What happened?"

Dean and Bobby both fell silent.

Sam raised an eyebrow, waiting for one of them to speak, but neither of them did.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Lucifer's cage had a bunch of locks on it," Bobby said. "They were called seals. There were six hundred of them, but she only needed to break sixty-six. We were trying to stop them breaking, and we did save a couple, but it wasn't enough. It got down to the last one."

"And I broke it," Dean said dully, looking pointedly at the opposite wall.

"But how?" Sam felt awful asking, adding to his brother's misery, but he had to know what happened.

"We thought Lilith was breaking the final seal," Bobby said. "So we got hold of the colt, and Dean went after her, only…"

"She wasn't breaking the final seal," Dean said. "She _was _the final seal. I killed her and freed Lucifer."

One part of Dean's explanation resounded in Sam's mind. He killed Lilith. She was dead. He rocked back in his seat and his breath huffed out of him as he absorbed the truth. She was gone. She would never be able to hurt him again. He was free of her. No matter what happened, and it was sure to be bad, he was at least free from her.

He must have looked pretty awful, as Dean came forward and squatted in front of him. "Sam, you okay?"

Sam could hear his heart pumping in his ears and he was slightly nauseous, but he nodded. "You killed her?" he asked in a breathy voice.

Dean bowed his head. "I did, and I'm sorry. I swear I didn't know what would happen. I thought I was saving the world not ending it. I never meant for any of this to happen."

Sam reached out and gripped Dean's shoulder. "She's dead. You killed her. Thank you."

Dean looked up and his brow furrowed in confusion. "You're thanking me?"

Sam tried to make sense of his thoughts. He understood that Dean was expecting a different reaction from him, and he would be happy to deliver it, if only he knew what it was.

"I've kick-started the end of the world, Sam," he said. "Don't you have something to say about that?"

Sam understood at last. He was supposed to be angry. How could he be angry though? Dean had been killing Lilith, a demon, and he had granted Sam the wish that had been held within in him for longer than he could remember.

"It's bad," he said. "I get that. Lucifer is free, and while that's awful, you didn't know, Dean. You thought you were saving the world, not ending it. There's no blame in that."

Dean looked at him as if assessing his mental competence. Maybe it needed assessing. Sam knew he wasn't right now, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew what he was saying was right. Dean hadn't intended to hurt anyone, and that was what mattered.

"So," Sam said. "What do we know about Lucifer?"

"Very little," Bobby said. "Other than the fact he and Michael are supposed to have some kind of epic fight that will take out a good portion of the world."

"And if they don't battle it out, Lucifer is going to 'roast the planet'," Dean said darkly.

Sam looked thoughtful. "What was that angel trying to get you to do?" he asked. "I didn't understand."

"Angels are kinda like demons," Dean said. "They need a meat suit, though they call it a vessel. Apparently, I'm Michael's."

"Well, that's not happening," Sam said brutally. He hadn't given everything to bring Dean back just to lose him now. He wouldn't.

"None of us want it, Sam," Bobby said gently. "We're just saying that's what the angels want."

"They can go screw themselves," Sam said, getting to his feet and pacing the length of the room. He was filled with nervous energy. He couldn't lose Dean, he couldn't, but how was he supposed to keep him safe from angels. This wasn't something that could be fixed with a deal. How was he supposed to save his brother this time?

* * *

><p>Dean watched Sam pace with ever-increasing speed, and his worry for him increased with every pass up the room. He exchanged a glance with Bobby, and Bobby shrugged his helplessness. Sam was almost jogging now, and Dean couldn't watch him anymore. He caught Sam's arm as he passed and pulled him round to face him. Sam jerked away and took a step back.<p>

"They're not having you," Sam said determinedly.

Dean smiled. "You're right. They're not. They need my say-so to ride me, and I'm not giving them that for anything."

He couldn't let Michael in if the resulting fight was going to take out millions. If Sam hadn't been saved, Dean would have tested the whole 'We'll bring you back' theory. If he was dead, he couldn't be anybody's vessel. He couldn't do that now though, not now Sam was here. He'd have to find another way.

Sam sank down onto the couch again and looked blankly across the room. He seemed to be thinking hard. Dean was thinking hard, too. He was trying to come up with something, anything, to say to make Sam look at him as if he expected him disappear at any moment.

Outside the window, darkness had fallen. Sam's first day back on earth was coming to a close. Dean couldn't believe it had only been a day. It seemed like weeks with everything that had happened. A day ago, Lucifer had still been locked in his box and Sam had been dead. Though he would never regret Sam being saved, he wished he could turn back the clock and do something different.

Sam suddenly stiffened and his hands fisted on his lap.

"Sam?" Dean said, eyeing his brother carefully.

Sam didn't react for a moment, and Dean's worry increased.

"You okay, boy?" Bobby asked.

As quick as it had come, Sam snapped out of it. He shook his head and drew a deep breath. "Did you say something?"

Dean and Bobby exchanged a worried look. Something was definitely going on with Sam. Something similar had happened on the car ride back. Sam had looked at him and for a moment, it was as if he was seeing something other than his brother sitting beside him. Like now, the moment had passed, and Sam had seemed fine after. Seeing now that it wasn't a fluke, Dean started to question just how much damage Sam's time in the pit had done.

Before he could question Sam about what was happening, Sam asked a question of his own. "So, do all angels need vessels?"

"I assume so," Bobby said.

"So, Lucifer needs one?"

Dean saw what he was getting at. "Yeah, I guess so. What are you thinking, Sam?"

"If we can cut Lucifer off from his vessel, we can stop him taking it. If he's got no body to fight with, he and Michael can't have their smack-down. I bet it'd be harder for him to roast the planet if he's not physically here, too."

"How are we supposed to keep him from his vessel though?" Bobby asked. "He's an archangel, we're just humans."

Sam raked a hand through his hair. "I don't know. There has to be a way though."

"We find out who it is, and we kill them," Dean said brutally.

Sam's eyes widened for a moment as he reacted to the idea. Dean wondered how he would take it. He hadn't been around the last ten months. He hadn't seen the number of deaths in Lucifer's name as Lilith broke the seals. He wasn't hardened to it like Dean was. Dean was glad of it. He wanted his brother to remain affected by what they did. It was part of being human. Just because Dean had been forced to shed that part of himself, it didn't mean Sam should, too.

Sam nodded slowly. "I guess it's the only way."

Bobby nodded his grudging agreement. "How are we supposed to find the vessel though? This isn't something a little research is going to tell us."

"I bet the angels know," Dean said. "They knew about me after all."

"Which is great and all, but the only friendly angels we know are probably dead. That was one pissed off archangel that was touching down at Chuck's."

"Only one way to find out," Dean said, he raised his eyes. "Cas, Anna, if you're around, we could do with a chat. We think we've got an idea about Lucifer, and we could do with some angelic assistance."

"I'm here," a soft voice said. Dean spun and saw Anna stepping into the library. "What do you need?"

Sam visibly started, and before he shoved them in his pockets, Dean noticed his hands were shaking. He wanted to comfort his brother, to make sure he was okay, but he didn't know how to do it without making him feel like Dean was babying him.

"No Cas?" Dean asked hopefully.

Anna bowed her head. "Castiel is dead."

Dean took an involuntary step back as the shock rolled over him. He had thought this might have been the case, but thinking and knowing were two different things. Castiel, Cas, was dead. It didn't seem real.

"Was it the archangel?" Bobby asked.

"Raphael," Anna said. "He smote Castiel in revenge."

"For what?" Dean asked bitterly. "Millennia of good service."

"For falling. When he saved Sam, without orders, that was him falling."

"So Raphael beat him?" Bobby asked.

Anna shook her head. "There was nothing to beat as there was no fight. Castiel had no weapon that could have defended him."

"But he had that snazzy knife," Dean said. "Like yours. You killed those other angels easily enough."

Anna nodded. "An angel blade. But Raphael is not a mere angel. He is an archangel. You can only kill an archangel with another archangel's blade. I spoke to the prophet. Castiel was definitely killed."

"Because of me," Sam said quietly. "He saved me and they killed him for it." There was no mistaking the weight of guilt in his voice.

"It wasn't your fault, Sam," Anna said softly. "Castiel was falling regardless. It just happened to be you that was saved. They would have killed him anyway."

Sam got to his feet and made for the door.

"Where are you going?" Dean called after him.

"I'm just going for a walk," he said dully. "I won't be long."

"Sam, wait," Anna said.

Sam turned and Anna stepped up to him and laid a hand on his chest. "I am sorry for this."

Sam suddenly flinched away from her and Dean started forward. "What the hell?"

Anna reached out a hand and laid it on his chest. Dean cringed back as a burning pain swept through him. It was like every rib was breaking at once. As fast as it had come, it disappeared, and he was left panting. He turned and saw Bobby massaging his chest and Anna's hand falling back to her side.

"What the hell was that?" he asked.

"An Enochian sigil." Anna said. "It'll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer."

"What, did you just brand me with it?"

"No. I carved it into your ribs. Sam and Bobby's, too."

Sam rubbed at his chest idly and then made for the door again. Dean made to follow him but Bobby caught his eye and shook his head. Dean watched as Sam walked outside, letting the door swing closed behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Anna turned to Dean with an intense look in her eyes. "We need to talk."

"You're right," Dean said. "We think we've got a plan to deal with Lucifer, but we need your help."

"What's your plan?" Anna asked.

"It's Lucifer's vessel," Dean said. "We figure if we can keep him from it, we can stop him and Michael. I'm not saying yes, and if Lucifer's vessel is out of action, they can't fight."

Anna looked at him contemplatively. "You want to kill the vessel."

Dean nodded briskly. "I don't see we've got any other choice."

Anna looked down and shook her head sadly. "You can't do that."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "And why not? I get that it's an innocent, but so is the rest of the world that Lucifer is planning on taking out. It's one life against millions."

Anna looked miserable as she looked at Dean. "Lucifer has taken a vessel already. It's not his true vessel, a mere stop gap, but it's enough for now."

"You mean Lucifer's got another vessel, like Dean?" Bobby asked.

Anna nodded. "The archangels can take another but there is one true vessel for each of them, and that is who they will need for their battle. It is a bloodline path. Only those of the bloodline can be taken."

"So, we take out Lucifer true vessel," Dean said. "Problem solved. They can't fight without their vessels, and I'm not saying yes, so we need to deal with this other guy and we're golden."

Anna looked at him pityingly. "And what are you prepared to sacrifice to stop Lucifer?"

"Anything," Dean said quickly. "This is the world we're talking about."

"Even Sam?"

Anything but that. Dean could sacrifice anything, including his own life, but not his brother's. He had just got him back. He couldn't lose him again. "

"What's Sam got to do with anything?" Bobby asked.

"Sam is Lucifer's vessel," Anna said.

Dean sucked in a breath between his teeth. "Sam's a vessel?"

"Sam is Lucifer's true vessel. The man Lucifer has taken now is a mere substitute. He will not sustain Lucifer's presence long."

Dean closed his eyes, absorbing the shock. It didn't seem possible. After everything Sam had done, after everything he'd given already, the universe wanted more from him.

"He's not doing it," he said harshly.

"'Course he's not," Bobby said. "Neither of you are. We'll find another way."

Dean looked into his eyes and saw the resolve there. For Bobby, there was no other option. He wouldn't let Sam or Dean do this. He would find a way to save them both. Dean felt a surge of affection for his surrogate father.

"Sam can't know," he said quietly.

"Dean…" Bobby said gently.

"No, Bobby! We're not doing it. He's already been through enough, given enough. He doesn't need to know he's Satan's meat suit. What would that do to his head?"

"Forewarned is forearmed," Anna said.

"Screw that!" Dean shouted. "We're not doing that to him. We'll keep him safe on our own. He doesn't need to know."

Anna nodded slowly. "I will follow your lead, I won't tell him, but I think you're making a mistake. Sam deserves to know the truth."

"Sam deserves a lot of things, least of all some peace for a while. He's been through hell, literally, and he's not all the way back yet. We're giving him what he needs. Understand?" He locked eyes with Bobby.

"He'll find out eventually," Bobby said. "And he'll be pissed that we've kept it from him."

"Let him be pissed. At least he'll have some peace first."

* * *

><p><strong>So… Sam knows about Lilith and Dean's keeping secrets. There's no way this can end badly, right? ;-)<strong>

**If you enjoyed the chapter, please take a moment to leave a review. I love hearing from you. **

**CoM x **


	6. Chapter 6

**I realize when I have been handing out the thanks I forgot someone important. Gredelia1 listened to be bitch and whine about this story and she offered invaluable feedback throughout. Thanks hon.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Six<strong>_

He had killed an angel.

That was the thought that kept resounding in Sam's mind. Because of him, an angel, one of God's own children, had died. The guilt was overwhelming.

Why had the angel done it? What had made him believe that Sam was worth saving? He didn't feel worth saving even once, and yet now it had happened three times. Once through Dean's deal and twice through that poor, doomed angel. It was as if the universe was conspiring against him, as if it was trying to correct the balance. Sam should have been left dead the first time. So much could have been avoided if he had.

He turned a corner and set off again through the maze of cars. He knew he should be inside with Dean and Bobby, helping them plot, but the shreds of his self-restraint were stretched taut and he knew it was only a matter of time before he broke. He didn't want anyone to witness his fall.

Suddenly, a clap of thunder rolled overhead and lightning flashed across the sky. Rain began to fall and he was quickly soaked to the skin. He wrapped his arms around his chest and made toward the house again. He froze in place as he heard a laugh behind him. It was a sweet, sultry sound, but it made his skin crawl. He knew that laugh. Reaching for a weapon that wasn't there, he turned on the spot, searching for her.

"Sam." The voice came like a whisper on the wind, a seductive sound, and he shuddered.

"Where are you?" He was surprised that his voice came out steady when inside he was quaking with fear.

"Here," the voice replied, and she stepped out around the corner.

She was in the guise of a young blonde woman, but as she turned her head, he saw the flash of her true face. The rotted, twisted remains of her humanity. It was unlike any other demon's, as old as it was, and he'd seen it many times. That was the face that had bowed over him and she cleaved at his flesh, the face that had held the blade that had peeled away his skin. It was Lilith.

"You're not real," he said. "You're dead."

"Dead by your brother's hand," she said. "That's what they told you, right?"

Sam nodded jerkily.

"And you believed them." She laughed. "Poor, stupid Sam. Do you believe everything you are told?"

"Dean wouldn't lie to me. Not about this."

"Not unless it was to protect you," she said. "Dean's poor Sammy. He's been through so much. He doesn't need to know the truth. Let's tell him a lie so he can sleep at night."

Sam didn't believe it. There was no denying the guilt in Dean's eyes as he had told him about Lilith and Lucifer. He had killed her, or at least he thought he had. Was it possible that he was wrong? Could this all have been some trick?

"You're dead," he said, though there was less certainty in his voice now. Doubt was starting to creep in.

She tittered. "Can a dead person do this?"

She flung out an arm and he was knocked back against a car. His arms unwrapped from around his chest and flew out to his sides. He remembered this. This was the position he'd been pinned into for years in the pit.

She sauntered forward, a sashay in her hips, and she pulled a blade from behind her back. Sam cringed back as much as he was able given his position, and she tittered.

"There is no escaping, Sam, not from me. You know that." She reached out a hand and plucked at the front of his hoodie. "This is going to need to go."

She drew the knife from the neck to hem and the fabric fell open, revealing his chest.

"Hmmm… It seems the angels cleaned you up when they brought you back. All those delicious scars you had are gone. I always liked them. No matter, I shall make new ones. I shall start with my name. You should wear my brand. You belong to me after all."

The point of the knife rested against his throat and she pressed down, parting the skin. Sam gritted his teeth against the pain. He would not allow her to see that she was hurting him. That was the best part for her; she loved the reaction. She wanted him to cry out for help. He had cried out at first, for Dean and Bobby to save him, he hadn't been able to help himself, but he soon learned that the only thing to be gained from that was more pain.

He had been naïve before he made his deal. He had believed that knowing why he was there would make Hell bearable. What damage could the fires do when he was saving his brother? He had been wrong. There was no clinging to a happy thought there. The pain still raged regardless. It had given him no comfort, but he had reminded himself daily of why he was there anyway. He had told himself it was for Dean to try to cling to his humanity.

The blood dripped from his chest in rivulets onto his jeans. He felt it soaking through the fabric, warmer than the rain and so much worse.

Lightning flashed across the sky and he looked down and saw that there were letters carved into his flesh. In shaky letters was her name, her mark of ownership. That was almost worse than the pain.

She stepped back to admire her work and smiled cruelly. "That's beautiful, but there is something wrong. This…" She rested the tip of her knife over his tattoo. "This thing keeps you safe, but I don't want you safe anymore."

With a wicked smile, she plunged the knife into the centre of the tattoo, parting skin, flesh and muscle. Sam cried out, he couldn't help it, the pain was overwhelming, and she laughed.

* * *

><p>Dean heard the cry cut through the quiet of the room and his heart leapt into his throat. That was Sam.<p>

"Sammy!" he shouted, running toward the door, Bobby hot on his heels.

They raced down the steps and out into the yard, bellowing Sam's name, but there was no response. The quiet night had fallen silent.

"Over here!" Anna shouted.

Dean ran toward the voice and then came to a screeching halt at what he saw. Sam was curled into a ball on the ground, with his head buried against his knees and his hands fisted in his hair. Everything about the scene screamed submission and fear.

"Sammy!" he said, dropping down beside his brother. "Hey, come on, Sam. Head's up."

He laid a hand on Sam's shoulder and felt how tight the muscles were bunched. His touch seemed to startle Sam, as he flinched back and raised his head.

"Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean said, obviously confused. Who was Sam expecting to see?

Sam looked from Dean to Bobby and his eyes finally come to rest on Anna. He untangled his hands from his hair and eased himself to a stand. For another moment he was obviously confused as he plucked at the front of his hoodie and then looked up at the clear, starry sky, then it was like a shutter came down over his face. All emotion was replaced by a mask of calm, as if he had done nothing more extraordinary than go for a walk, as if he hadn't just been crying out in pain.

"What happened?" Dean's stress made his voice a little harsh.

"Nothing," Sam said carelessly.

"Nothing? You were shouting, Sam. It sounded like someone was torturing you."

Sam's mask slipped for a second, and Dean saw his fear, but he quickly marshaled his expression. "I'm fine, Dean. I just saw something for a minute. It's gone now." He scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed. "I just need sleep."

"Sure you do," Bobby said. "You've got to be wiped."

Sam nodded and Dean thought he saw a flash of relief in his eyes. He started towards the house again and after exchanging a look, Dean and Bobby followed. Sam didn't stop when he got inside; he carried on up the stairs.

When he was sure Sam was out of earshot, Dean turned to Anna. "What the hell was that?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I found him like that."

Dean ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He was thinking of what he'd seen and what it could mean. Missouri had said Sam had been through a lot, he could attest to that, and he needed to be the big brother again, but he didn't know how to do that unless Sam told him what was happening.

An idea occurred to him and he shuddered. "You don't think he's thinking he's gone back again, do you?"

Bobby shook his head. "I have a feeling that if Sam thought he was back in Hell we'd know about it. It would be a little more than shouting at shadows in the yard."

Relieved, Dean nodded. It would definitely be more. If Sam's Hell had been anything like his, and he had reason to believe it had been worse, Sam would be freaking out on an epic scale. It didn't explain what had happened out there, but it was at least one possibility off the table.

"I need to talk to him," he said.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, but don't be too hard on him."

Dean had never needed Bobby's advice less. Sam practically screamed fragile, even though he was doing his best to hide it.

He patted the adder stone in his pocket, realizing he had a good reason to go to talk to Sam now. He needed it and his clothes. He collected the duffel from the trunk of the Impala and made his way up the stairs. He made a concerted effort to hide his approach, not wanting Sam to know he was coming; he was hoping he could catch Sam unawares and see some sign of what was really happening.

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. As Dean strode into the room, his head snapped up and he looked wary for a moment.

"I brought your stuff," Dean said redundantly, holding up the duffel.

"Thanks," Sam said, reaching for the bag and tugging it against Dean's grip. He smiled slightly. "You're going to need to let go."

Dean released it and sat down on the opposite bed. He reached into this pocket and pulled out the adder stone.

"What's with the ugly ass stone?" Sam asked.

"It's something Missouri hooked me up with after I came back," Dean said. "It keeps away nightmares."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Dean nodded. "I know it sound hokey, but it works. I didn't dream at all when I used it. You just have to near the bed and it'll do the work for you,"

Sam took it and set it on the small table between the beds. "Did you have a lot of nightmares when you got back?" he asked nonchalantly. "

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "Pretty much every night."

"Anything else?"

Dean frowned. "Like what? Is this about what happened earlier?"

Sam shook his head. "No," he said quickly. "I just wanted an insider's view of what to expect. It's not like I'm going to find post-hell issues on WebMd."

Dean knew Sam was lying, something big had happened to him outside, but Sam obviously didn't want to talk about it. Though the curiosity and concern was burning within him, he let it go.

"My post-hell issues were different," he admitted. "For me, it was less about me being out of the pit and more about the fact you were there instead."

Sam looked down at the floor. "Yeah, I get that."

Dean would have liked to say more, he owed Sam thanks for what he had done, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. To thank Sam for what he had done would have sounded like he approved of it all. He didn't. He appreciated it more than he could ever say, but he hated that Sam had made that deal.

"I'll leave you to get some sleep," he said awkwardly.

"Thanks." Dean was almost out of the door when Sam spoke again. "Dean, you really did kill Lilith, didn't you?"

Dean turned. "Yeah. She's dead, Sam."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

Dean stepped out onto the hall and closed the door behind him. He tried to tell himself that he imagined it, that Sam was okay, but as the door clicked closed he thought he heard a quiet hitching sob.

* * *

><p>Life in the pit was predictable. When the flesh wasn't being flensed from your bones, you were being taunted by the people you loved for all your failings in life. It was torture, plain and simple, but predictable.<p>

Life on the outside was harder.

Sam never believed he would be free of the pit, his deal had been the end, but had he imagined it, he would have thought of the life he left behind. He would have thought of days spent in the car, crossing the country on the hunt for whatever fugly was their target that day. He would have thought of grungy motel rooms and hours spent researching on the internet. He would have thought of good-natured arguments about which station the radio should be tuned to or where they would eat that night. If he had been able to think of Bobby, he would have remembered the taciturn man that opened his home to them and yet spoke in gruff remonstrances much of the time. That was the life Sam had left behind, but it wasn't the one he came back to.

The life he came back to was disturbingly different. There were no good-natured arguments, there were no gruff remonstrances, and there were no fuglys. There were long pointed silences that Sam ached to fill if only he knew what they wanted to hear. There were solicitous questions Sam could never answer honestly for fear of revealing too much, and there were whispered conversations that fell into silence the moment he entered a room.

They were treating him as if he was made of glass spun so thin that a harsh word would shatter it completely. He appreciated their concern and he knew it came from a place of love, but he would have given almost anything for things to go back to the way they had been before.

After Lilith's arrival and the consequent pain, Sam had to evaluate a few things about himself. He hadn't come back from the pit in one piece. The angels had removed every scar from his body, like children wiping a blackboard clean, but they hadn't been able to do the same for his mind. That had been scarred irreversibly by what had happened to him, and the strangest part was he only remembered flashes. It was if the experience was too great for his mind to hold intact, so it had constricted itself down. It came to him like bursts of light at the most inopportune times. He knew Lilith hadn't really been there, he'd been hallucinating, but the experience had felt so real, even down to the rain that had pelted his skin on a clear night. That had been the worse, but there were other, lesser, flashes that caught him off guard.

The first morning he'd woken in Bobby's house after his rescue, he'd woken alone in the room. He'd gone downstairs to the kitchen to find his brother asleep, sitting up on the couch. He'd crept across the room and into the kitchen, thinking only of coffee, when the kitchen walls had melted away to be replaced with a wall of fire. The same wall of fire that had surrounded Sam in Hell as Lilith presided over him. He had closed his eyes to block the image, but he still felt the warmth on his face and heard the crackle of flames. Grinding his teeth together, he'd told himself it wasn't real, and when he opened his eyes, it was gone.

Later that same day, he'd walked into the library and interrupted Bobby and Dean's whispered conversation. They both looked up at him with forced smiles and innocent expressions, but their eyes had been demon black. Sam knew that wasn't what was real, it was just another trick of his mind, but the fear had been very real.

Though he had been quick to control his reaction, they had noticed it. He was sure they didn't believe him when he said it had just been a particularly violent twinge of a headache, but they let him excuse himself without demanding more information. He'd gone back upstairs and hid for the rest of the day lying on his bed. It felt wrong to be doing that when there were so many more pressing concerns, such as Lucifer, but he hadn't the energy to do anything else. He just needed a little peace.

On the seventh day after his rescue, if being dragged out of Hell and waking in your own coffin was counted as a rescue, Sam woke feeling different. He felt like he was waking up for the first time, and seeing what had become of him. He couldn't stay the way he was, drifting through the days. There were more important things to be doing. Like fighting. He didn't feel ready, he didn't think he ever would, but he had to act it. Dean and Bobby _needed_ him to act it.

He made his way into the bathroom, taking notice of his reflection for the first time since he'd got back. He hadn't shaved, and there was a heavy shadow along his jawline. Under the scruff, his skin was pale and his eyes were darkly ringed. He looked awful.

He set the shower to running and stepped under the hot stream of water. It was too hot, burning his skin, but he didn't adjust the faucet. The heat seemed to be seeping through his skin, warming him for the first time since he got back. He scrubbed at himself, scratching until it burned, but the burn felt good, too, as if he was shedding a skin, the skin of the man he had been before.

When the water began to cool, he climbed out and toweled off. Standing at the sink, he shaved, running the razor over his face in clean sweeps. When he was done, he looked into the mirror again and examined the difference. His face was flushed from the heat of the shower. It gave him a ruddy-faced look of wellness. Though the shadows under his eyes couldn't be magicked away, they were less pronounced against the flush of his skin.

There was one aspect of his reflection that no amount of work could remove though, and that was the darkness in his eyes. It was as if the darkness of his soul had seeped into his irises. It took centuries to make a demon, centuries to twist a soul into something dark. From the look in his eyes and the weight in his heart, he knew that damage had begun before he was saved. He wondered if Dean and Bobby saw it there too, if they knew what he was on his way to becoming. He hoped not. He had an act to maintain.

* * *

><p>Dean was sitting at the table with the newspaper open in front of him and Bobby was frying eggs when Sam came into the kitchen. He glanced up to greet his brother and then did a double take as he got a look at him. He looked different, brighter somehow. For days he had been drifting around the house like a shadow of himself, now he almost looked like the old Sam, except the eyes, there was still wariness there.<p>

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and Dean realized he was making him uncomfortable. He rallied for something to say to break the awkward moment. "So, you've given up on the yeti look?"

Sam rubbed a hand across his clean-shaven jaw. "Dude, I was not a yeti."

Behind him, Bobby almost dropped the plate he was holding. He looked stunned. Dean understood the reaction. Not only did Sam _look_ like the old Sam, he sounded like him, too.

"I don't know," he said easily. "You hair up pretty fast. It wouldn't have taken long for you to look like Big Foot."

"You know Big Foot wasn't a yeti, right?" Sam asked,

Dean couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. This was his real brother, not the specter he'd been living with for days.

"You hungry?" Bobby asked casually.

"Starved," Sam said.

This was different. Sam had been picking at whatever they put in front of him for days now, and Dean had been growing worried, but here he was, professing hunger. He almost pinched himself to make sure it wasn't a dream. It felt like one. He had been hoping that Sam would snap out of it for days, but here it was really happening.

Sam reached across the table and snagged the newspaper from Dean. He closed it and checked the headline. There was nothing special there, nothing supernatural anyway, but something had seemed to resonate with Sam. He breathed out a heavy sigh. "Only ten months."

Dean understood at once what he was talking about, and he recognized the strangeness that was Sam not questioning it before. One of the first things he'd done at that fill-up joint was see how long he'd been gone. Sam hadn't asked and Dean hadn't told him.

"Feels longer, doesn't it?" Dean said.

Sam nodded. "I kinda lost track of time, but yeah, it feels longer." He shook his head, as if dispelling an upsetting thought, and sat back in his seat. "So, I've been thinking. We don't have to kill Lucifer's vessel. If we can just track down whoever it is and clue them in we can… What's up?"

Dean's horror must have shown in his expression. He quickly schooled his face into a look of disappointment rather than outright horror. "It's too late, Sam. Anna said Lucifer already took his vessel."

Bobby looked at him behind Sam's back and Dean saw the disapproval there. He would follow Dean's lead and not tell Sam about his appointment as an angel's meat suit, but he wouldn't like it.

Sam cursed. "That's that plan screwed then. Any other ideas?"

Bobby set plates of eggs down in front of each of them and then took his own place. "None yet," he said.

"What about Lucifer himself," Sam asked. "Do we have any idea what he's doing? If he's in his vessel now there should be all kinds of crap happening, right?"

"You'd think," Dean said. He and Bobby had been scanning the news and web for signs of Lucifer for days but there was nothing new there, nothing outside of the usual human drama.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Nothing?"

Dean shook his head. "Not that we can see."

"How about that other angel, Anna? Have you heard anything else from her?"

"Nothing," Bobby said. "Not since that night—" The phone began to ring then and he got to his feet to answer it. "Hello? That you, Rufus? I can't hear you." There was a pause and he pressed the phone tighter against his ear. "Where are you? Colorado? River Pass, Colorado? Rufus? You there?" He looked at the phone for a moment and then set it back on the table. "Damn thing cut out."

"What's up with Rufus?" Sam asked, pushing away his plate.

"He's up to his ass in demons in Colorado. I'm going to have to go help him out."

Sam pushed to his feet. "We'll come with."

It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to protest, to tell Sam that they didn't need to go, but he realized they did. Rufus was in trouble and despite the fact Sam was only one week out of Hell, he seemed to be doing better. Dean had wanted him to have a rest before being thrown back into the fight. It seemed the universe had decided seven days was all he was going to get.

"River Pass, here we come," he said with forced enthusiasm.

* * *

><p><strong>So… Sam's seeing Lilith and now they're off on a hunt. There's no way this can end badly, right? ;-)<strong>

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello again, lovely people. Thanks for the reviews, faves and adds for the last chapter. I really appreciate them all. **

**Exciting news… I have been attacked by a new plot bunny. It's a Sam/Castiel pairing but I am not sure yet whether it was be a romance or just a strong friendship fic. I am currently writing chapter thirteen and will start posting when it's complete, so if you're interested and haven't already, add me to author alerts. **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>_

The hits started coming the minute they arrive at the edge of River Pass. The bridge had collapsed and their cells were all out of service. They had to climb down and cross the shallow river using stepping-stones. Dean's mood was grim by the time the crossed into town. As if the bridge and lack of cell phone signal weren't bad enough portents of doom, there was the town itself. It would have been a nice enough place on a normal day, clean streets and attractive buildings, but the streets were dotted with empty cars, including Rufus' Zodiac, with doors thrown wide as if the passengers had fled in a hurry. One car had been flipped onto its roof. The only car that looked like he had been parked with care was a bright red Mustang.

"What do you think?" Dean asked.

"Rufus must have been in serious trouble," Bobby said darkly. "He'd never leave his car like that."

Dean knew he was right. It made the heavy weight of trepidation settle over him a little closer.

The sound of footsteps clicking against the pavement reached them and, without speaking, they all ducked into an alleyway. They hid behind a dumpster, and waited. The footsteps came closer and Dean peered out from his hiding place.

"Ellen?"

She leveled a gun at him and he came forward, Bobby and Sam following. When he was less than a few paces in front of her, she pulled a flask out of her pocket and splashed his face with holy water. Dean shook his head, sending droplets of water into the air.

He spoke in a low growl that wouldn't reach Sam's ears. "They're clean, too." He was hoping to impart the message that if she doused Sam with holy water they were going to have a serious problem. Sam didn't need those connotations. Ellen nodded covertly and turned her attention to Sam who smiled brightly though his eyes were still a little tense.

"Hey, Sam." She started forward and threw her arms around him. For a moment, Dean saw the panicked look in Sam's eyes, but he quickly smiled and brought his arms up to hold her. As she pulled back, she cupped his face in her palms. "You okay, sweetie?"

Sam nodded and she beamed at him.

"So, what are you doing here?" Bobby asked.

"Well, after your call last week, me and Jo had a talk. If the end really is nigh, the more hunters out there the better. Me and Jo have teamed up for a while."

Dean hadn't realized Bobby had put the word out to other hunters about what was happening. Now he thought of it, he saw that it was only right that they were forewarned. Selfishly, he hoped Bobby had come up with a good excuse for them knowing as much as they did. He was ashamed of what he'd done, freeing Lucifer, but that wasn't what worried him. If other hunters knew, they might target Dean for revenge, and that would put Sam at risk, too.

"What's the deal here?" Sam asked. "Rufus said it was demons."

Ellen nodded. "A whole mess of them. I've never seen so many in one place. I got into town earlier today. Rufus called. Said he was in town investigating omens. All of a sudden, the whole town was possessed. When we got here, we couldn't find Rufus, then me and Jo got separated. I was out looking when I found you.

"We'll find her," Sam said. "Don't worry."

Ellen nodded. "I know you will."

"What about the people?" Bobby asked.

"The ones that aren't sporting black eyes are hiding out in a church. Come on, let's get you introduced."

They followed her along the street to a simple looking white church. They came to a heavy wooden door and Ellen knocked on it with her fist. "It's me."

Someone behind the door opened a peephole and then the sound of bolts disengaging could be heard. The door swung open and a young man was revealed. He had the hardened look of someone that had seen too much but refused to be a victim. Dean felt a little better seeing him, they wouldn't be fighting alone, but then he caught sight of the rest of the occupants of the room and his heart sank. They were not a band of fighters. Among them there was a terrified looking pregnant woman, an old man and a smart looking, middle-aged man that was dabbing at a split lip. There were ten in total, and none of them looked as though they could really believe what was happening to them.

"This is Sam, Dean and Bobby," Ellen said. They're hunters."

"You guys hip to this whole demon thing?" the young man that had opened the door asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Are you?"

The man that had been dabbing at his lip said, "My wife's eyes turned black. She came at me with a brick. Kind of makes you embrace the paranormal."

Dean wondered how the man had escaped. He definitely didn't look like he could fight a demon off. He was fussy and nervous looking, constantly fiddling with his ring.

"This is Austin and Roger," Ellen said gesturing between the two men, "and Mary…" She continued reeling off the rest of the names of the survivors, but Dean didn't pay attention. He was looking from face to face and wondering how they were going to get these people out of town safely.

"These people can't just sit here," Sam said. "We got to get them out now."

Ellen shook her head. "It's not that easy. I've been trying. We already made a run for it once."

"What happened?" Bobby asked.

"There used to be twenty of us."

Bobby appeared to do a quick headcount of the room and he shook his head.

"Well, there's four of _us_ now—" Dean started but Ellen cut him off.

"You don't know what it's like out there. Demons are everywhere. We won't be able to cover everybody."

"What if we get everyone guns?" Sam asked. "Load up on salt and keep the demons back."

Bobby looked thoughtful. "Could work."

Sam nodded. "Okay then. I saw a sporting goods store on the way into town. I bet they've got guns. All right. You stay. Me and Dean will go.

"What about—"

"If Jo and Rufus are out there, we'll bring them back," Sam said.

He walked to the door and Austin opened it for him. Dean made to follow but Bobby caught his arm. Speaking in a low whisper he asked, "You sure this is a good idea? Having Sam out there with demons?"

Truth was, Dean wasn't sure it was a good idea, Sam had to have seen enough demons to last him a lifetime, but he didn't know how to say that to his brother without belittling him. Besides, Sam seemed so much better now, calm and confident, if you discounted his reaction to Ellen's hug, but he was bound to have some issues still. Not wanting to be touched was a fairly light symptom compared to what could have been.

"He's fine, Bobby," he said, following Sam out and up the stairs.

He almost expected the streets to be crawling with demons, but there was no one in sight. Dean guessed they were all lying in wait, prepared to spring their trap.

"I'll get the salt. You get the guns." Sam said.

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out Ruby's knife. "You take this," he said.

Sam frowned. "What about you?"

Dean almost told Sam that he was more concerned with having his brother protected than himself, but he caught himself; that sounded a little defeatist.

"I'll have the guns," he said. "I'll be plenty armed."

Sam nodded his agreement and started off down the street.

* * *

><p>Sam was feeling better. The hunt helped, knowing what he was doing was important made it easier to focus. There were innocent people that he could help as long as he kept his head in the game.<p>

He made his way into the small store and scanned the shelves, looking for salt. Spotting it on a low shelf, he squatted and began shoving it into his duffel. He was almost done when he heard the door open again. He straightened slowly and peered over the top of the shelf. What he saw made him jerk down again, out of sight. The two people that had come in were young, late teens early twenties, and their eyes were a uniform onyx black.

Sam's breath came quick and his heart raced. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the demon blade. One of the demons came to the end of the aisle he was hidden in and began to fill a bag with bottles of water and soda. Sam was about to strike when what he was seeing sank in. Demons didn't need to eat or drink. Some did it anyway, like Ruby had, but they didn't _need_ to. If they were holed up in a town they'd taken over, would they really be taking time out to fetch themselves a coke? Sam knew they wouldn't, which meant these were other survivors. His brain was just screwing with him again, making him see demons where there were none.

"Hey," he said softly.

The teen at the end of his aisle turned and jerked back with fright. "Ed!" he shouted, and the second boy came around the corner, brandishing a baseball bat. Sam had a second to recognize his mistake before they were on him.

The one holding the baseball bat swung it through the air, catching his shoulder. He felt the weight of it impacting his flesh and he groaned with pain as the knife dropped out of his hand. The unarmed one snapped out a fist and caught him across the jaw. The baseball bat came at him again, and though he threw up a hand to block it, it still hit his temple with enough force to stun. He dropped to the floor and their blows rained down on him. He curled into a ball, trying to protect himself as they pounded into him. Thankfully, the one with the baseball bat seemed to decide that feet against flesh was more satisfying, and he dropped the bat and began kicking at Sam's back.

His breath whooshed out of him and his lungs ached for air. One blow caught the back of his head and his vision flickered.

"Filthy demon!" one of them said.

It was like slipping into a nightmare. He wasn't in the store on the floor anymore; he was in Ellen's kitchen tied to a chair. It wasn't two teenagers beating him; it was Dean and Bobby. He could do nothing to defend himself, restrained as he was, and the blows kept coming. He squeezed his eyes closed and waited for the blow that would knock him into merciful darkness.

Then, as suddenly as the attack had come, it ceased. Hands were patting him and trying to unwrap his arms from around his head.

"Sam! Sammy!"

He opened his eyes and looked up into Dean's frantic face. He slowly uncurled himself, feeling the pain of his assault rippling over him. He had taken too many blows to be able to hide his pain completely, and he hissed in a breath.

"What the hell did they do to you?" Dean asked.

"I'm fine," Sam said, taking Dean's hand and letting him ease him to his feet.

Dean shook his head. "They whaled on you, Sam. You're not fine."

Sam looked down and saw the two boys lying on the floor. Their throats had been cut.

"Something's wrong, Dean," he said shakily.

"You gonna pass out on me?" Dean asked.

"No." Though that wasn't an impossibility, his head was swimming. "They called me a demon."

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "Sammy…"

Sam knew he was thinking of the exorcism, but that wasn't what he meant.

"No, they beat me because they thought I was a demon."

Dean paled. "When I killed them, there was no reaction to the knife." He looked sickened. "You think they were humans tripping balls or something?"

"They had black eyes, but I thought it was just… Never mind. The point is that I saw them as demons and they saw me as the same. What if there are no demons."

"What could be doing this?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders and immediately regretted it as it sent pain lancing through him. "No idea.

"We need to get back to Ellen and Bobby," Dean said. "Maybe Bobby's heard of something like this before."

Sam nodded and they stepped around the two bodies on the floor and headed back to the church.

* * *

><p>"What the hell happened to you?" Bobby asked as he caught sight of Sam.<p>

Sam rubbed the back of his head and winced. "Got jumped by a couple of kids in the store."

"You mean demons, right?" Ellen asked.

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so. They called _me _a filthy demon, though they were the ones with black eyes."

Bobby looked to Dean for an explanation.

"We think there's something going on," Dean said. "I killed them with the knife, but there was no reaction, no sparks or flashy lightshow."

He hoped they were wrong, that he hadn't killed two innocent teenagers, but the more he thought about it the more possible it seemed. As they had walked back, Sam had told him about the fact they were apparently stocking up on snacks in the store. Unless these were demons with a twisted sense of humor and liking for diet coke, they had been wrong the whole time.

"But I saw them," Ellen said.

"What exactly did you see?" Sam asked. "Other than black eyes? Any superhuman strength or telekinesis?"

"Just the eyes," Ellen admitted.

"I saw more," Roger said. "My wife was crazy strong, and I saw a demon spinning that car out on Main alone. Humans can't do that."

"Maybe there really are demons here," Dean said. "But there's humans too. There's something else happening here."

"Like what?" Roger asked. "What makes human eyes go black other than a demon?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nothing I've ever seen."

Ellen pushed her hand through her hair. "I'll be back."

"Where you going?" Dean asked.

"I can't sit here on my ass. My daughter's out there somewhere, maybe with demons, maybe with tripping out humans. I can't leave her out there."

"No, wait. I'll go with you," Sam said.

Dean caught his arm, trying not to notice the way Sam's muscles bunched at the contact. "Whoa, hold on. Can I talk to you for a second?"

Sam walked over to the corner of the room. "What?"

"You're gonna go out there again?"

Sam smiled slightly. "Well, crap doesn't hit the fan with coffee breaks."

"Sam, you just took a helluva beating. I'll go."

Sam looked like he wanted to argue, he cast the other occupants of the room a nervous glance, and then he nodded. "Okay. Be careful."

Dean didn't know whether he was referring to Dean's own safety or the safety of others, he had just killed two possibly innocent kids, but he didn't ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Help Bobby get them prepped with the guns," he said.

Sam nodded and moved to the duffel Dean had left on the table and began pulling out the guns.

He exchanged a glance with Bobby, hoping to communicate his need. Bobby may have understood as he nodded curtly. He would take care of Sam.

Ellen tossed him a shotgun and he checked it was loaded with salt rounds then he followed her out of the door.

"So, how's Sam doing?" Ellen asked when they were out on the street.

"Apart from the beating he just took you mean?" Dean asked. "He's… okay."

"You don't sound too sure."

"He's been through a lot. He's still kinda coming out of it all. I'll be honest, for the last week he's had me scared, but today looks like he's doing better."

Ellen nodded. "And how about you?"

Dean sighed. "I couldn't tell you. Sam's back and that's awesome, but things still aren't right."

"He needs time," Ellen said with certainty. "He'll come through. You did, and you didn't have your brother there to help you."

"Yeah, I guess." He was thinking of how he'd struggled when he got back. For him, it hadn't been the fact he'd been sprung from Hell, it was the fact his brother had taken his place. He'd needed time to get through that, and his stay at Missouri's had been vital in that process. Maybe that was what Sam needed, some time away from it all. He wasn't sure he could suggest it though. It was selfish, but he needed Sam with him.

"Look there," Ellen said, snapping him out of his thoughts. She was pointing at the roof of a house at the end of the street. Smoke was pouring from the chimney.

"Demons don't get cold," Dean said.

"No, they don't. That's a point in your favor for the whole hallucinating thing."

They crept toward the house and sidled up to the window. Dean peered inside and saw a man standing against the wall armed with a hunting rifle in his hands. That was another point in the hallucination column. Demons didn't usually resort to firearms. They were happier with their bare hands when there was need of violence.

Suddenly, Ellen jerked backwards as someone grabbed her from behind. Dean cracked the person—he still didn't know if it was human or demon—over the head with the butt of his gun. "Run!" he shouted.

"Look out!"

Dean turned in time to see a black-eyed Rufus raising his gun and cracking him over the head with the barrel. He dropped to the ground, consciousness deserting him.

* * *

><p>Sam was in the process of explaining how to load a shotgun to their small band of wannabe fighters when he heard a fist pounding on the door. "It's me!" Ellen shouted. "Let me in!"<p>

Sam crossed the room in long strides and pulled the door open. Ellen practically fell into the room, and Sam noticed instantly that she was alone. Cold, hard fear gripped him.

"Where's Dean?" he asked.

"They've got him"

Sam cursed and his hands came up to tangle in his hair. His heart pounded in his ears and he felt slightly sick. Someone touched his shoulder and he started.

"Easy, boy," Bobby said. "He'll be fine. You said yourself, they're probably not really demons."

"No," Sam said brutally. "They're probably humans, scared humans that think they're facing a demon. And Dean has the knife. What do you think they'll do if they work out what that is?"

Bobby visibly paled but he shook his head. "Who was it, Ellen?"

"Jo and Rufus. I think you're right about the hallucinations. Jo called me a black-eyed bitch, though she was sporting a pair of her own."

"How is that helpful now?" Sam snapped.

"It's helpful because they know Dean," Bobby said. "They won't kill him."

They might not kill him intentionally, but they could hurt him nonetheless. If they thought Dean knew something or could somehow help them save their family and friends, they would be ruthless. Sam would be if he was in their position.

"How is this happening?" Bobby asked. "If we can just break the hallucinations maybe we can fix this mess. Do you know why Rufus came to town? Was there a specific omen?"

Ellen shook her head. "He said something about water. That's all I know."

"Anyone know what she's talking about?" Sam asked harshly. His fear for Dean was making him tense.

The pastor spoke up. "The river ran polluted all of a sudden."

"When?" Bobby asked.

"Wednesday," Austin said. "And the demon thing started up the next day."

"Anything else?" Bobby asked a little desperately. "Anything."

Austin and the Pastor exchanged a glance. "Maybe, but it's pretty random."

Ellen nodded encouragingly. "Good. Random's good."

"Shooting star, Does that count?"

Ellen and Bobby exchanged a glance.

"That definitely counts," Bobby said. He crossed the room and pulled a heavy book from the shelves. As he set it down on the table, Sam saw that it was the bible. Bobby ran a finger down a page and then read aloud. "And there fell a great star from heaven, burning like a torch, and it fell upon the river, and the name of the star was Wormwood. And many men died."

The pastor's eyes widened. "Revelation eight-ten. Are you saying that this is about the apocalypse?"

"You could say," Ellen said darkly.

Bobby looked at the pastor. "And these specific omens, they're prelude to what?"

Sam could tell he knew already, but he wanted the civilians to come to the conclusion themselves. He would have appreciated the subtlety of it had he not been preoccupied with worry for his brother.

"The Four Horsemen," the pastor said.

"And which one rides the red horse?"

Sam knew immediately what they were facing and therefore how screwed they were.

The pastor looked grim. "War."

* * *

><p>Dean jerked awake and looked around the room. He was tied to a chair and Rufus and Jo were looking down at him. Their eyes were black but it was him that they were looking at with disgust. Dean struggled against ropes wrapped around his chest.<p>

"Uh-uh. No way you're getting out of those," Rufus said. "Did you up myself. You're stuck right where I want you, you evil son of a bitch."

Dean looked at Jo. She was brandishing a gallon jug of what he was sure was holy water. Before he could say anything, Rufus backhanded him across the jaw and Jo upended the water on his head.

When there was no reaction, she looked at Rufus askance and he shrugged. Rufus gripped Dean's chin and forced his head back. Jo picked up a can of salt and Dean shook his head jerkily. "No. Wait, wait, wait!"

Dean tried to clamp his jaws shut, but Rufus was too strong. His mouth was prised open and Jo tipped the can. The salt poured into his mouth and over his face. He thought he was going to choke on it. They released him and he spat the salt down onto the floor.

"Rufus, stop!"

Rufus ignored him and began to chant the Latin exorcism. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus."

He felt a chill of horror as he recognized the similarities in the scene, except last time it had been Sam tied to the chair as they'd chanted Latin at him.

"Jo, please," he said.

"Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii,omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus."

"You've seen this, Jo," he said. "I'm not a demon, but look what you're doing to me. This is what we did to Sam. Don't make the same mistake I did. I am not a demon."

Jo's jaw clenched and she slapped him hard against the cheek.

"Jo," he said quickly. "I'm not a demon. Look at me. What do you see?"

"Black eyes," she spat.

Dean sighed. "And so do I. It's not demons. It's something else. Something is screwing with our heads."

"Audi nos!" Rufus said harshly.

When nothing happened, Jo and Rufus' eyes widened.

"I am not a demon," Dean said. "Jo, you know this. Look what happened last time. The exorcism won't work."

"You locked yourself in!" Rufus said.

Dean shook his head and spoke through gritted teeth. "I am _not _a demon. Why do you think the exorcism isn't working? Or the salt and holy water?"

"Maybe he's right," Jo said gently.

Rufus scowled. "Demons lie. This one is just trickier than most. We'll find a way though."

He stormed from the room and Jo made to follow.

Dean shouted after her. "Jo! Think of Sam. Think what we did to him. Don't make my mistakes."

Jo turned back to look at him. "I am thinking of Sam. He needs his brother, not some black-eyed bastard."

* * *

><p>When the door opened again, Dean expected to see Rufus and Jo with a new exorcism to try out on him, but it was the man from the church that came in. He looked completely different now. Whereas before he had seemed weak and simpering, he now exuded confidence.<p>

"Who the hell are you?" Dean asked and then realized he was asking the wrong question. "What are you?"

The man grinned and took off his glasses. "You caught me. Popped in to watch. I can hustle like that."

"So, the Roger everyone around here knows, the real Roger?"

"Buried in a ditch."

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded. The man closed the door and brought chair round to sit in front of Dean. He rested his hands on his knees and looked smug.

"So who are you?" Dean asked.

"Here's a hint. I was in Germany. Then in Germany. Then in the Middle East. I was in Darfur when my beeper went off. I'm waiting to hook up with my siblings. I've got three. We're going to have so much fun together."

Dean felt a sick swoop of fear in his gut. This wasn't just any other fugly. This was one of _the_ fuglys. War. One of the Four Horsemen. "I know who you are," he said. "There aren't any demons in town, are there?"

"Nope," War said happily. "Just frightened people ripping each other's throats out. I really haven't had to do too much. Take out a bridge here, lay in a little hallucination there, sit back, pop some corn, watch the show. Frankly, you're really vicious little animals, Dean."

Dean shook his head. "No. You're doing this."

He smiled deprecatingly. "Please. Last week, this was Mayberry. Now these people are stabbing each other's children."

"'Cause you made them see demons!" Dean growled.

"Honestly, people don't need a reason to kill each other. I mean, you seen the Irish? They're all Irish. You think I'm a monster. I'm jello shots at a party. I just remove inhibitions."

"I'm gonna kill you myself," Dean vowed.

War laughed. "Oh, that's adorable, considering you're my poster boy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means? You're my poster child, Dean. You're the one that made all this possible. Good intentions—quick slide to hell, buddy boy. You freed Lucifer, and he's throwing a party to celebrate. Me and my brothers, we're the special guests." He stood and put his glasses back on. "Showtime for the meat suits. Watch this."

He twisted his ring and blood began to flow down his forehead. He kicked over his chair and threw himself down onto the floor, crying out.

Rufus and Jo rushed into the room, and War pointed at Dean with a shaky finger. "He did it! He said they're coming! He said they're coming to get us!"

"No," Dean said hurriedly. "Stop! Jo, Rufus, he's lying! No! It's War!"

"You're damn right it is," Rufus said, backhanding him across the face again.

* * *

><p>"So now you're saying that there are no demons and War is a guy," Austin asked.<p>

Sam was pacing the room, unable to stay still as his mind raced. He was fighting outright panic and fear as the rear wall of the room kept flickering into fire one moment only to be replaced with plasterboard the next. He knew his mind was slipping and he fought for control of himself.

Someone hammered on the door, and Sam visibly started. Bobby looked at him with concern but Sam shook his head. He didn't have time to think of that now.

"Open up! It's Roger!"

Austin opened the door and Roger practically fell inside. "I saw them, the demons," he panted. "They know we're trying to leave. They said they're gonna pick us off one by one."

"Wait, wait, wait. What?" Bobby said.

"I thought you said there were no demons," Austin said accusingly.

"There's not," Ellen said then she turned to Roger. "Where did you go?"

Sam reached across the table and picked up his gun. He pointed it at Roger's head. "Why did you go out?" he asked.

"I thought someone should go out and see what's going on!"

"You're lying," Sam said, then some new certainty settled over him. "It's you!"

Roger shook his head jerkily. "What's me? I don't understand what you're saying."

"Sam, put the gun down, son," Bobby said gently. "Let's not make any snap decisions."

"He's crazy!" Roger said in a querulous voice. "He's going to kill me!"

"Look at him, Bobby," Sam said. "It's War. It has to be."

"We can't be sure," Bobby said. "We can't just kill a man."

Roger twisted his hands, appearing nervous, but Sam saw the slight movement as he turned his ring, and he understood. That was how he was doing it, controlling them.

"Look at him!" Roger shouted. "He's a demon!"

Sam didn't need a mirror to know his eyes were now as black as onyx. The reactions from the people in the room were enough. The only ones that looked uncertain were Ellen and Bobby.

Sam had to get out of there. He had to get to Dean. Bobby and Ellen were too occupied with saving these civilians, but Sam had only one concern, and that was his brother. Dean was in trouble and he needed Sam. An idea occurred to him, and though he knew his judgment wasn't at its best, it was the only idea he had.

He turned the gun from Roger and pointed it at himself. Bobby stepped back and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sam?"

Sam tilted his head to the side and grinned. "Not anymore."

"Put the gun down," Ellen said, sounding horrified.

Sam shook his head. "I am going to leave now. If one of you tries to stop me. I will empty this into Sam's head. It won't kill _me_, but it will kill him. If you come after me. I will empty the chamber into you."

"Sam?" Bobby said questioningly, and Sam thought he knew what was going through his mind. This really could be a demon, or it could be a Hell-crazed Sam's version of hara-kiri. Whatever Bobby was thinking, Sam was going to use it to his own advantage.

"You can't just let him leave!" Roger shouted.

"Watch them," Sam said. He picked up a rifle from the table and made his way out of the door, still pointing the gun at himself.

There was a split-second in which the plan could fail, as he left the room, but they were either too stunned or too scared he really would hurt himself to act. He got out of the room, dragging the door closed behind him and then broke into a run.

* * *

><p>Dean was struggling against the ropes holding him when the door flung open and Sam raced in.<p>

"Sam!" he said. "How the hell did you get past Jo and Rufus?"

"It doesn't matter," Sam said, working to untie the knots. "It's not demons, it's…"

"War," Dean finished for him. "Yeah, he made an appearance earlier. It's his ring. Something about it makes people see what he wants them to see."

Rufus and Jo burst into the room and Dean spoke in a rush. "It's not demons, it's War."

"We know," Jo said. "Sam explained."

"And you believed him and not me?"

"You weren't pointing a gun at your own throat at the time," Rufus said. "Something like that makes you take a minute to listen."

"You did _what_?" Dean shouted, rounding on Sam.

"It was the only way to make them listen," Sam said with a supreme lack of concern.

"Sam!" Dean gaped at him, but Sam didn't seem to notice. He was working to untie Dean from the chair.

As the ropes fell to the floor, Dean got to his feet and flexed his arms. "Where's Bobby?"

"I left him at the church," Sam said, "with Ellen and the others."

"We've got to get over there," Jo said, making for the door.

They hurried after her, out of the house and onto the street,

Suddenly, Sam screeched to a halt and shouted out, "Dean, over there!"

Dean had already spotted him. War was making his way over to the cherry red Mustang parked on the corner. He turned to look over his shoulder, and even at a distance, his smile was obvious.

Sam broke into a sprint towards him, running flat out, and Dean raced after him. The need to deal with War and to make sure Sam didn't do anything stupid were battling in his mind.

Sam reached War first and he grabbed his arms and shoved him against the car. Dean drew the knife and War laughed. "Whoa. Okay. That's a sweet little knife. But come on. You can't kill War, kiddos."

"Oh, we know," Dean said.

Sam forced his hand down on the bonnet of the car and Dean slammed the knife down on War's fingers, cutting them off. The ring rolled off its bloody stump and dropped to the floor.

Ignoring War's howls of pain, Dean bent down and picked up the ring.

There was the sound of footsteps and Rufus and Bobby came running around the corner. They stopped dead in their tracks as they took in the scene before them. War was lying on the ground, cradling his bloody hand to his chest and making a great deal of noise, Dean was standing with the ring in one hand and the blade dripping with War's blood in the other hand, and Sam was paying no attention to anything happening around him; he was staring at the rear wall of a store with a look of horror etched on his features.

"Sammy?" Dean said gently. "You okay?"

Sam turned slowly to face Dean and he shook his head. "No. I'm really not."

* * *

><p>They were sitting at a picnic table in a rest area on the way out of the state. There was another car in the lot beside the Impala, but no one could overhear their conversation.<p>

Sam had refused to say more in River Pass after his admission that he was not okay. He had just turned away and headed onto the road out of town. Dean had left Bobby, Rufus, Ellen and Jo to take care of War and the civilians, catching up with his brother at the broken bridge. Sam had refused to talk then, too.

Now they were sitting in silence, and Dean was worried Sam was going to refuse to talk now, too. Part of him wasn't sure he wanted Sam to talk. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear what Sam had to say. He knew there was something seriously wrong here, and he was scared to find out what it was.

"Dean…" Sam cleared his throat. "We need to talk."

Dean's heart sank. Those words had never been followed by a conversation that ended well for anyone. "What's wrong?"

Sam raised his head slowly and looked Dean in the eye. "I am."

"Sammy..." Dean was ready to refute anything Sam had to say about himself, but Sam caught him off guard.

"I'm broken, Dean. I'm really messed up."

If Dean had been honest with himself, he'd known that for a week, but he hadn't wanted to admit it. He had accepted Sam's sudden turnaround as it was what he'd wanted to see. He knew the truth though, Sam wasn't right, and ignoring it wasn't going to help either of them.

He raked a hand over his face. "Tell me what's happening."

Sam swallowed thickly. "I saw Lilith. That night after I got back, I was in Bobby's yard and she came out of nowhere. She… she hurt me."

Dean closed his eyes, absorbing the shock. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wanted to be okay for you," Sam said. "You had so much to deal with, your angel friend dying and what happened with Lucifer. I tried so hard to be okay, but I'm not, and I can't pretend anymore."

"It wasn't just that once then?" Dean asked. "It couldn't have been an echo."

Sam shook his head. "No. It's not stopped. I haven't seen _her _anymore, but there's other stuff. Like right now, your eyes are black, and yet I know you're not a demon."

Dean looked away, as if that could save Sam the sight of his demonic eyes.

"It's not just that though," Sam said. "Back there, in the church. I left Bobby and Ellen with War, and I didn't care what would happen to them."

"They're fine, Sam."

"They might not have been. I didn't even think about them. All I cared about was getting to you."

"So, you're focused, that's not necessarily a bad thing. We've always looked out for each other's backs."

"But not at the expense of others' lives. I'm dangerous, Dean, to everyone around me."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm in no shape to be hunting. I need to step back. Maybe it's best we just... go our separate ways."

Dean shook his head jerkily. He couldn't let Sam go off on his own; he needed to be there to take care of him. "No!"

Sam smiled slightly. "I'm not giving you a choice, Dean. I can't hunt right now, not until I get my head straight."

"Then I won't hunt either," Dean said quickly. "We can stay together and I can…"

"You can what, take care of me?" He shook his head. "That won't work. You need to be on the road, and I need to be somewhere I can't hurt anyone, least of all you."

"You wouldn't hurt me, Sam."

"Wouldn't I? I know you're not a demon today, but what about tomorrow? What if I can't tell the difference anymore? I am so broken, Dean, I don't even know how to start putting myself back together, but one thing I do know is that I'm not safe to be hunting."

Dean looked across the mountains and forest that made up their view. He knew what Sam was saying was right, he could feel it, but he didn't want to admit defeat. He had to hunt, there was no escaping it. He had set Lucifer free and it was down to him to protect the world from the fallout, and that included Sam. But how was he supposed to just let his brother go?

"This is what I need, Dean," Sam said softly. "I need you to let me go."

And with that, Dean's ability to argue was destroyed. He had spent his life giving Sam what he needed, not always what he wanted, but always what he needed. If he said Dean needed to let him go, that was what he was going to have to do.

Sam must have seen the defeat in his eyes as he smiled again. "Thank you, Dean."

"I don't like this," Dean admitted. "It feels wrong."

"But it's right."

"You sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything. I need to get some space so I can work through what's in my head. It won't be forever."

But he couldn't promise that. What if he really was broken? What if there was no fixing him? Dean hated the thought, but it had to be faced. What if this last hunt really had been the end for them?

"Okay," he said reluctantly. "I'll let you go and I won't kick up a stink, but you've got to do something for me."

"Anything."

"Go to Missouri's. She can take care of you. She did for me."

He was thinking of the long weeks he had spent in Lawrence at her house. She had fixed him as much as it was possible for him to be fixed at the time. The poison had been excised there. Maybe she could do the same for Sam.

Sam nodded. "Okay. I'll go to Missouri."

"You want to take the Impala?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "No, you need her more than I do."

Sam got to his feet and Dean copied him. Sam turned as if to walk to the car, but Dean couldn't let him go like that. He grabbed his arm, ignoring the way Sam stiffened at his touch, and dragged him into a hug. For a moment, it was like embracing a mannequin, but then Sam relaxed into his hold and brought his own arms up to hold Dean.

They broke apart, and Sam looked determinedly over Dean's shoulder. Given the new knowledge of what was happening in Sam's fragmented mind, Dean what he was seeing there.

"I'll see you, Dean," Sam said, turning away and making for the car.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said. "I'll see you soon."

* * *

><p><strong>So… Sam has come clean and now he's going off on his own. It was hard to separate the boys, even for a little while, but I am trying to follow canon and I think they need this time apart. Don't fret though, I won't have them alone long. <strong>

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	8. Chapter 8

**Sastiel story update… It's almost finished! I have been working like a mad thing and I am down to the last few chapters. As soon as I am done, I will start posting, so keep an eye out for it. **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>_

Dean woke in a grungy motel and his eyes immediately drifted to the side to see if Sam was still sleeping. Then he remembered Sam was gone and he was alone. The realization made him throw back the bedclothes and stomp into the bathroom. It had been two days since Sam had left him, and he hated it. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. When he realized Sam was back, really back, not as a demon, he thought that meant things would be good. They would get down to hunting again, finding a way to a way to deal with Lucifer together. But Sam was gone, so Dean had to find a way to do that alone.

He understood Sam's need for space, even if he didn't like it. Sam needed the break. It was just unfortunate that Dean's needs and his didn't mesh. He needed his brother with him and that was just what Sam couldn't do.

He had just got out of the shower when he heard his phone ringing. He hurried out into the room and snatched it up. "Sam?"

"He's not with you?" Bobby asked in response.

Dean sighed as disappointment swept over him. He hadn't heard from Sam since they separated in Colorado, and he'd been waiting for word of him ever since. He'd thought about calling, but he didn't want Sam to think he was checking up on him. Sam had to call in his own time.

"What do you need Bobby?" he asked.

"We need to talk. Are you close?"

"A few hours out. I can be right with you. What's this about?"

"It's probably better if you see for yourself," Bobby said grimly.

Wondering what new crap-storm was on its way into their laps, Dean ended the call and ran a hand through his hair. Whatever it was Bobby was calling for, it was sure to be interesting, and hopefully it would serve the purpose of driving worry for his brother out of his head for a while.

* * *

><p>The drawbacks of hitchhiking meant Sam had to waste hours waiting for someone to offer him a ride. It didn't help that the bruises from his 'demon' attack had developed into their full Technicolor glory. He cast an ominous figure standing at the side of the road. It took him day and a half to make what would have been a half day drive, but he eventually made it into Topeka and from there he walked. It took him most of the night, walking in the darkness, but he was in no hurry; he didn't know exactly what was going to happen when he got there.<p>

His head had been mostly quiet through the drive, only transforming the face of one of his drivers into a demon once. He was grateful. He had enough to be making him feel like crap without hallucinations joining the party. He felt bad about leaving Dean to fight alone. It was only the fact he knew it was safer for them to be apart that made it possible. If he'd stayed, sooner or later, Dean would have been hurt, either because Sam did it directly or because Dean was busy protecting him when he should have been taking care of himself.

On the way through town, he made a detour to his old house. He hadn't planned to make himself known, Jenny didn't need to see him again, it would only drag up memories of when they'd met, but the house was empty anyway. There was a _For Sale_ sign on the front yard. Sam wondered what had happened. Had Jenny and her children moved on to bigger and better things or had they not been able to stay in the house after what happened to them there?

"They couldn't stay," a voice said behind him. He spun on his heel and saw Missouri standing behind him. "No one could."

Sam frowned. "I thought the poltergeist was gone… and my mom."

"They are," Missouri said. "But people said there was a bad feel to the place. I think the echoes of what happened there are still within the house."

"And there's nothing you can do?"

She shook her head. "Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't. I think it's better that house stays empty." She came forward and laid a hand on his arm. His muscles tensed at the contact, but he didn't flinch away.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked.

"I felt you," she said.

"I thought I needed to let you in."

"You do, but your psychic pain is open to all to hear if they have the shine. What are you doing here, Sam?"

Sam was embarrassed to feel a tear track down his cheek. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I need help."

She smiled sympathetically. "I know you do, child. I know."

* * *

><p>Bobby was waiting in the library for him, and before Dean could ask of his questions, Bobby asked one of his own. "Where's Sam."<p>

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "Can I have a drink before I tell you?"

"That bad?"

Dean nodded.

"You'll probably need a drink anyway," Bobby said. "I've got a bit of a shock for you."

Pondering that, Dean followed him inside. Bobby snagged two beers from the fridge and handed one to Dean.

"You first," he said. "Where's Sam?"

"Him and me are taking some time apart," Dean said. "He's taking time away from me anyway."

Bobby frowned and gestured for more.

"Sam's not doing so good," Dean said, dropping down onto the couch. He's kinda… I don't know. I guess the best explanation is that he's seeing Hell still."

Bobby leaned against the desk and looked thoughtful. "Like hallucinations?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. That night he freaked out here, it was because he saw Lilith. He didn't say exactly what she was doing, he just said she was hurting him, but I think it's safe to say she was getting her torture on. He thinks it's safer for me if we're not together at the moment." He noticed Bobby's reaction, or lack of it, and frowned. "You don't seem that surprised."

"I'm not. I knew something was going on, I just didn't know what it was. Let's not forget he pointed a gun at himself and pretended to be a demon."

"That was just so he could get out of there," Dean said defensively. "He wasn't going to shoot himself."

"Wasn't he?" Bobby asked. "You didn't see him, Dean. He wasn't himself."

Dean didn't want to think of Sam hurting himself. He couldn't think of it. He couldn't think of his brother out there in the world, possibly suicidal, without Dean to protect him.

"He's just taking some time away," he said doggedly, "to get his head on straight. He just needs a little time."

He didn't know who he was trying to convince, Bobby or himself. It didn't look like Bobby was buying it anyway.

"Where's he taking this time?" Bobby asked.

"Lawrence. I told him to go to Missouri. She'll take care of him."

Bobby smiled. "She'll definitely do that."

Dean considered. Missouri had helped him; she would help Sam, too. He doubted whether she'd put him to work as she had Dean. They were both dealing with two very different problems. Dean had needed distraction and peace, and he'd found it in doing simple tasks. Sam needed someone to literally take care of him, to fill him with food and love. Missouri was the perfect person to do that.

It was ironic that the woman that had set their father on the path to hunting, the path that had led eventually to Sam going to Hell in the first place, inculpable as she was, was now the one putting them back together again.

"So, what's your news then?" he asked.

"I had a visitor this morning," Bobby said.

"Yeah, who?"

Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. "Castiel."

* * *

><p>Sam sat in the lounge of Missouri's home and watched as she bustled into the room carrying two mugs of tea. She handed one to Sam and he recognized the scent of chamomile. Jess used to drink it during exam time. She said it calmed her. Sam had never developed a taste for it, but he didn't want to offend Missouri so he took a sip.<p>

"Tell me what's happening," she said gently.

Sam grimaced. "I think I'm losing my mind."

She tutted. "Oh, Sam. A mind isn't something that can be just lost. The only way to do that is to disconnect yourself, and you are very much connected still. I wouldn't be able to hear your pain otherwise."

"Maybe it would be better to lose it," Sam said. "It has to be better than what's happening now."

"And what exactly is happening?"

Haltingly, Sam told her everything, about seeing Lilith and what she had done to him, about walls' propensity to turn to fire, about people's eyes turning black and their faces becoming the rotted remains of a demon's true face. He told her of his fear for Dean's safety while he was seeing things and the guilt that he didn't care more about other people's safety.

She considered him for a long moment, and then got to her feet and moved to sit beside him on the couch. "You're not broken, Sam. Broken makes it sound like there's no fixing you, and I know that's not true. I won't pretend that I know what you're going through, because I don't. I caught glimpses when you opened your mind to me, and what I saw there makes me admire you all the more for coming out of it, you and your brother both."

"Dean." Sam sighed. "I don't understand how he can be fine when I'm so…" He shook his head. "He's obviously a better man than me."

Missouri patted the back of his hand where it rested on his knee. "He's not a better man at all. You're are both equally awe-inspiring. When he came to me, he was feeling broken, too. But for him, it wasn't just Hell, It was losing you. He had been through too much, just like you, but he got back on his feet. It took him time and a lot of work, but he got there, and so will you."

"Dean was here?" Sam asked, he thought he remembered something Dean said about Missouri helping him too, but his focus had been split at the time as Dean had been sporting black eyes

"Dean was with me for a month," she said. "He came here, fresh from a fight with Bobby, and I took him in. He was…" She sighed. "I don't think he even realized how bad he was until he was coming out the other side. I've never seen a relationship like the one you Winchesters share. It was like Dean had been split in half, and he couldn't function right without you. What happened here wasn't healing. It was him finding a way to struggle on without that part of himself."

"But I'm not like that," Sam said. "I've still got Dean. It's my head that's the problem. It's more like I left part of myself down in the pit and I'm seeing what that part of myself is seeing while the rest of me's topside."

Missouri looked thoughtful. "Maybe you're right. Sam, would you mind very much if I invited a friend here? I think she might be able to help you."

Sam frowned. "Who?"

"Her name is Pamela."

* * *

><p>"Cas?" Dean said blankly. "But he's dead."<p>

"Yeah, I thought so, too, but he's back."

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know. He was a little cagey about the details, but he arrived this morning looking for you. I guess we better ask him." He raised his eyes and spoke loudly. "Castiel, Dean's here if you want to talk."

They waited a moment and then there was a fluttering sound and he was there. He looked exactly as he had the last time Dean had seen him, down to the trench coat, except for his expression. He seemed more engaged now. As if before he had been seeing everything through a veil but he was now seeing in color.

"Hello, Dean," he said dryly.

"Cas," Dean said breathlessly. "But I thought… Anna said you were dead."

"And I was," Castiel said. "But I have been brought back."

"How?"

"By God, of course."

Dean shook his head wordlessly.

"Not that we're not pleased to see you back, Cas," Bobby said. "But I have to ask. If God sat back through the seals breaking and Lucifer rising, why would be rouse himself to save you, a fallen angel?"

Castiel shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, but I know he did. My resurrection is not important. What matters is what happens next?"

"And what happens next?" Dean asked.

"I must find God."

"You want to send him a fruit basket?" Dean asked. "Or maybe a 'thanks for bringing me back from the dead' bouquet."

Castiel sighed. "No, Dean, I want to find him so he can save us all. You and your brother included."

Dean merely looked his confusion and Castiel continued.

"You and Sam are the vessels needed for the battle. Michael and Lucifer will fight because that is what they believe they have to do. Michael is following our Father's orders. If God can be found, he can rescind those orders. He cannot want the planet, his creation, to suffer because of his children."

"Okay," Bobby said slowly. "And how are you going to find God?"

"I am going to ask one of his greatest children, Raphael, the archangel that killed me."

Dean frowned. "Isn't that a little like dangling yourself in front of him and asking him to kill you again?"

"That is why you are going to come with me. Raphael will not dare to hurt Michael's vessel."

"You want to use Dean as a human shield?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"He will be perfectly safe," Castiel said serenely.

Dean considered carefully. Being used a shield against an archangel didn't sound like fun, but what were his other options? If Castiel could find God, it could be the rescue they needed. Dean had caused this mess after all. It was only right that he do whatever he could to clean it up again.

"Okay," he said. "I'm in."

Castiel nodded. "Good."

Bobby started to protest, but Castiel had already laid a hand on his shoulder and swept him away.

* * *

><p>That same afternoon, Sam heard a knock at the door and his heart sped. He was nervous about this woman, Pamela. All Missouri had said was that she was a friend that had helped Dean out in the past. Sam found that a little reassuring. If Dean trusted this woman, Sam could, too.<p>

Missouri bustled to the door and then Sam heard soft voices. A moment later, Missouri came back into the room followed by a pretty young woman with wavy dark hair and a sweet smile. Appearances could be deceiving, Sam knew that better than most, but he felt an instant connection with the woman.

"Oh, boy," Pamela said, "Your parents knew what they were doing when they made you Winchester boys. One is just as hot as the other."

Sam ducked his head, embarrassed.

"Now, Pamela," Missouri scolded. "Can't you see you're embarrassing the boy."

Pamela looked contrite. "Sorry, Sam." She perched on the edge of the armchair and clasped her hands on her lap. "What has Missouri told you about me?"

"She just said you're a friend and you've helped Dean before."

"Well, I tried," she said. "He wasn't exactly receptive, but I did help him out on a couple of hunts. Now, Missouri told me a little about what you've been dealing with, and I think I can help, but only if you're prepared to trust me."

"How can you help?" he asked.

"I am something of an expert with the human mind."

"What are you, a shrink?"

She laughed. "You really are brothers, aren't you? Yes, Sam, I am a shrink, but I am also a psychic."

Sam nodded. "Okay, what do I have to do?"

"Tell me what's happening to you. What you're feeling and seeing."

Sam told her everything. Pamela sat in silence, absorbing it all. It wasn't any easier to go through it all with Pamela than it had been with Missouri, but he forced himself to go on. When he finally fell silent, Pamela nodded as if what he had told her had answered some question for her.

"So, do you think I'm crazy?" he asked, forcing humor into his tone though he found nothing humorous in his question.

"No, Sam. You're not crazy or broken. You're just human. I believe you have something called Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Admittedly, it's an extreme case, but then again, the trauma was extreme too."

"PTSD?" Sam said. "I thought that's what veterans get."

"It is, but it's a response to a traumatic event, and what you went through definitely qualifies."

It had definitely been a trauma, Sam thought, ten months of Hell. Who knew what they translated to in Hell time. It was definitely longer.

"Can you fix me?" he asked quietly.

She sighed. "You need to stop thinking of yourself as broken. You aren't. You're having a normal, human response to an extraordinary experience. That said, there are things that can help. An antidepressant would be a good first step as would some form of psychotherapy."

Sam shook his head jerkily. "I don't want drugs."

She sighed. "Okay, but therapy is equally as important. I'm not saying you need to book yourself in with a shrink, but you do need to talk about it. Find someone you trust and tell them. Bottling it up will do no good." She leaned forward in her seat. "One of the best things you can do is get back to your life. You can't hide from the world, Sam."

Sam sighed. "It's not that simple. My life involves danger. I can't just turn this thing off and if I start freaking out on the job someone could get hurt."

She looked thoughtful. "Maybe you're right. In that case you need to find a new life. You need something to focus on other than what happened to you."

That was a daunting prospect. He didn't feel strong enough for any kind of life. All he wanted to do was hide from it all, but Pamela made it sound like that was the worst thing he could do to himself. How was he supposed to find a new life though? Where did he even start?

* * *

><p>Dean looked down at the wreck of a man sitting in the wheelchair. He was staring blankly out at the room with a trail of drool making a path to his lap.<p>

"I take it that's not Raphael anymore," he said.

Castiel shook his head. "Just an empty vessel."

"So is this what I'm looking at if Michael jumps in my bones?"

"No, not at all." Castiel said and Dean felt a moment of relief that Castiel quashed as he continued. "Michael is much more powerful. It'll be far worse for you."

Dean turned away. "Great."

Castiel looked up at him. "Are you planning to say yes?"

"Hell no! I just want to know what would happen if Sam did."

"Dean, if your brother said yes to the Devil, the world would burn. The lasting effects of his dispossession would be the least of your worries. Besides, should Sam say yes, Lucifer would never leave him. Sam would cease to be your brother."

With that cheering thought, Dean watched Castiel as he poured a trail of the oil he'd brought with him in a circle around the man in the wheelchair. He had explained that it was holy oil, that when lit, would destroy an angel if they were to pass through it. It had been something of a relief to know there was something other than the snazzy blades that could hurt an angel. He filed it away for future reference.

"I get that you've set down the oil and all, but how are we supposed to get Raphael here?" Dean asked.

"There's almost an open phone line between a vessel and his angel. One just has to know how to dial."

"You telling me Michael can read my mind?" Dean asked, stunned.

"No," Castiel said serenely. "Only if he has taken you as a vessel and then abandoned you again. That wouldn't happen. Like Lucifer, Michael would never leave you if he took you. Now, if you don't mind, there is something we should be doing." He bent down beside the man in the wheelchair and chanted something Dean didn't understand. "I'm here, Raphael. Come and get me, you little bastard."

Resurrected Castiel was definitely a different Castiel, Dean mused. He thought he could be real friend with this version of the angel.

"Just out of curiosity," he said, "what is the average customer wait time to speak to an archangel?

Castiel stepped out of the ring of oil and lit a match. "Be ready."

* * *

><p>Pamela's last piece of advice before she left had been to abandon the adder stone. She said that as unpleasant as nightmares were, they were an important part of the mind's processes. Apparently, the more he repressed that part of himself at night, the worse things would be during the day, as if the nightmares would bleed through to his waking hours. So it was with great trepidation that Sam lay down in the bedroom Missouri had offered him and closed his eyes.<p>

The dream could have been waiting for him for the last week, he slipped into it so quickly.

"Hey, baby," Jess said.

Sam merely stared at her, absorbing the sight.

"I missed you," she said.

"Jessica?" Sam said in an awed tone, then he shook his head. "I'm dreaming."

"Or you're not. What's the difference? I'm here."

Sam knew it was a lie, just his mind playing tricks on him, but he wanted it to be real so much he let himself pretend. "I miss you so much."

She smiled sadly. "I know." She reached out and took his hand. Her touch was warm and inviting, and for once he didn't cringe away from the contact. "What are you doing, Sam?

"What do you mean?"

"Running away. Haven't we been down this road before?"

"No. It's different now."

"Really?"

"All those times I ran before, I was doing it for me, this time I am doing it for Dean."

"You're not protecting him," she said. "You're hiding from yourself."

Sam turned away. "Maybe I am, but it's the way it has to be. I can't be a part of this fight. I'm not safe."

"What do you want, Sam?" she asked. "Do you really want your brother safe more than you want me?

Sam frowned. "I don't understand."

Jessica's form rippled and changed into a man. He had a scruff of stubble and he was wearing a green shirt. Sam knew somehow who it was, though he didn't know how.

"Lucifer!"

The man nodded. "Thanks to you, I walk the earth. Because of the choices you made, because of your deal, your brother was set on the path that freed me. I want to thank you. I want to give you a gift. I want to give you everything."

"I don't want anything from you," Sam said through gritted teeth.

Lucifer looked sad. "I'm so sorry, Sam, I, I really am, but Nick here is just an improvisation. Plan B. He can barely contain me without spontaneously combusting."

"What are you talking about?"

Lucifer stood and came around the bed, moving closer to Sam. "You're the one, Sam. You're my vessel. My true vessel."

Sam's heart contracted painfully in his chest. "No!" It couldn't be true. He couldn't be Lucifer's vessel.

Lucifer smiled. "Yes."

"No. That'll never happen."

"I'm sorry, but it will. I will find you. And when I do, you will let me in. I'm sure of it."

"You need my consent."

"Of course," Lucifer said. "I'm an angel."

"I will kill myself before letting you in." Sam was already making plans. A bullet to the head. A speeding train. Whatever it took to save him from this fate.

"I'll just bring you back."

Sam saw it in his eyes. He saw the truth there. He knew it was possible. Castiel had already done it for him before.

Lucifer sighed. "Sam. My heart breaks for you. The weight on your shoulders, what you've been through, what is still to come. It is more than anyone could bear. If there was some other way... But there isn't. I will never lie to you. I will never trick you. But you will say yes to me."

"You're wrong," Sam said brutally.

"I'm not. I think I know you better than you know yourself."

"Why me?" Sam asked plaintively.

"Because it had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you."

**So… Sam knows he's a vessel now and he has a diagnosis. Poor Sam. It's not been an easy chapter for him. Cas is back and is currently dangling himself in front of that douche Raphael like a juicy steak in front of a bear. Smart angel that Castiel…**

**If you enjoyed the chapter, please take a moment to review. I really love to hear from you. **


	9. Chapter 9

**If you're a fan of the canon chapters, you're in for a treat. If you don't like them, I apologize. This chapter deals with events from The End. I have done as much as I can to change up what happens, and I'm hoping that's enough to make it interesting for you.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>_

It had been a bad day by anyone's standards. Dean had been disheartened after his and Castiel's encounter with Raphael and he'd crashed in a hotel around two-am. He soon realized Raphael was the least of his problems. He'd woken to a post-apocalyptic world where a good portion of the population were infected with the Croatoan virus. He'd been sure it was a dream, but no matter what he tried, he hadn't been able to wake up. That theory had gone to hell when he'd had a surprise visit from Zachariah en route to where he was sure his last friends and family were holed up. The smug bastard had told him this was his future, five years from his own time if he didn't say yes. He'd made it to the camp from the photo at Bobby's place, and then someone had knocked him out. He'd woken, handcuffed to a ladder on some decrepit looking bunk bed, and someone that looked very familiar was looking back at him.

"What the hell?" he said.

"I should be asking that question, don't you think?" The doppelganger version of himself asked. "In fact, why don't you give me one good reason why I shouldn't gank you right here and now?"

He tried for a smile. "Because you'd only be hurting yourself."

"Very funny."

"Look, man, I'm no shapeshifter or demon or anything, okay?"

"Yeah, I know. I did the drill while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water—nothing. But you know what was funny? Was that you had every hidden lockpick, box cutter, and switchblade that I carry. Now, you want to explain that? Oh, and the resemblance while you're at it?"

"Zachariah," Dean said simply. "I'm you from the tail end of 2009. Zach plucked me from my bed and threw me five years into the future."

His future self stood and came towards him. Dean thought for a moment that he was going to punch him. His hands were fisted at his sides. He guessed his future self didn't like Zachariah any more than he did. "When?" he asked intensely. "What's happening where you come from?"

"Um, me and Cas just saw Raphael."

His future self sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Just after Sammy left."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. He's not doing so well where I'm from." He sighed. "Truth is, I don't know if he'll ever be okay again."

His future self seemed lost in thought for a moment, his face a picture of pain, and then his expression became blank and he nodded. "Yeah, okay. You're me, I believe that. So, what, Zach zapped you up here to see how bad it gets?

"I guess," Dean said. "Croatoan virus, right? That's their endgame?"

"It's efficient, it's incurable, and it's scary as hell. Turns people into monsters. Started hitting the major cities about two years ago. World really went in the crapper after that."

"What about Sam?" he asked, half scared of the answer.

His future self stiffened and he turned away. "Heavyweight showdown in Detroit. From what I understand, Sam didn't make it."

Dean's heart contracted painfully in his chest. Sam was dead. Sam was gone. How could he have let this happen? "He's gone?"

The other Dean turned and his features were set in the mask that he showed the world when he didn't want anyone to see his heart was breaking. Dean knew it at once as he had seen in the mirror for ten long months. "Yeah, Sammy's gone." He turned away and grabbed a jacket from a chair. Pulling it on, he said, "I've got to run an errand."

"Whoa. You're just gonna leave me here?" Dean said, rattling the cuff around his wrist.

"Yes. I got a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an apocalypse hanging over their head. The last thing they need to see is a version of _The Parent Trap_. So, yeah, you stay locked down."

"Okay. All right. Fine. But you don't have to cuff me, man. Oh, come on. You don't trust yourself?"

"No. Absolutely not."

* * *

><p>It took him a while, but Dean eventually managed to prise the nail out of the floorboard and from there it was a simple matter of finding the catch in the handcuffs and working the lock. Soon, he was free and peering out of the cabin's window, checking for people. He thought his other self had a point about people not seeing him. He didn't want to get shot. When he saw it was clear, he sneaked out of the door and made his way toward the boundary fence. He was going to get his ass out of there and yell till Zachariah came and booted him home again. He didn't want to be in this future anymore, where his brother was dead and he'd turned into a dick.<p>

"Dean?" a voice behind him called.

He was poised between making a run for it and staying to face the music when he realized who the voice was.

"Bobby?"

Bobby was holding a clipboard and tucked into his pants was the old revolver he favored. "What are you doing here?" He scowled. "Since I just saw you leaving in the jeep?"

Dean really didn't want to be shot, least of all by his only remaining father figure. "Umm… I forgot something?"

Bobby pulled the gun out of his pants and aimed it at Dean's foot. "Try again. What are you?"

It was unfortunate that future Bobby was just as paranoid as the one he'd left behind. "I'm not a shifter," he said. "I already tested me. Or the other me did. It's me, Bobby."

"My ass," Bobby growled. "Come with me."

With a gun pressed against his back, Dean was prodded across the path toward another cabin. He climbed the steps and pushed the door open. The sight before him made him take a step back, despite the gun.

Sitting on the floor was a group of woman and at the head of the group was Castiel, though it definitely wasn't the Castiel he'd left behind. This Castiel was devoid of the trenchcoat and dour expression. He had a scruff of heavy stubble and he was wearing a collarless shirt. More disturbing than the outfit was the dopey smile he was sporting.

"Sorry, ladies," Bobby said gruffly. "Orgy's cancelled. Come back and molest Cas some other time."

The women took in the gun in Bobby's hand and made for the door. As the door closed behind them, Bobby shoved Dean forward.

"This isn't Dean," he said. "So what is it?"

Castiel stretched his shoulders and examined Dean carefully. "Whoa. Strange," he said.

"What?" Bobby asked, clicking back the safety. "What is he?"

"You...are not you," he said to Dean. "Not now you, anyway."

"No! Yeah. Yes, exactly." Dean turned to Bobby. "So no shooting, okay?"

"What year are you from?" Castiel asked.

"What year?" Bobby asked, confusion heavy in his tone.

"2009," Dean said. "You and me just got done with Raphael."

Castiel and Bobby exchanged a dark look.

"Have you seen you yet?" Bobby asked. "Our you?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"Did he tell you about…?" Bobby trailed off, looking sad.

"He told me about Sam."

Bobby sighed. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Me too," Dean said sadly.

"Who did this to you?" Castiel asked. "Was it Zachariah?"

"Yeah, he bounced me into the future to make me see what a screw up I'm making of the past." Not that he needed much convincing. His brother was off on his own, which would apparently cost him his life, and Dean had let him go. He had just set the world on a path to burn, and he had no idea how to stop it. All in all, he was screwed.

"Okay," Bobby said. "We need to keep you out of sight till you, the other you, gets back. Did Zachariah tell you how long you're going to be here?"

"Three days."

"That shouldn't be so bad," Castiel said. "Even we can keep him safe for three days."

"Yeah?" Bobby said darkly. "That's what we thought about Sam too."

* * *

><p>Castiel's cabin stank of patchouli, so Dean persuaded Bobby to let him hide out in his other self's cabin. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for himself to get back from wherever he had gone. Bobby waited with him, staring out of the window, looking for a sign of his Dean.<p>

"So, Bobby," Dean said. "I get that I'm not perfect, but when did I turn into a royal dickbag?"

Bobby turned and smiled slightly. "About five years ago."

Dean nodded.

"You've been through a lot," Bobby said. "That's changed you. But you're not all bad. You've saved a lot of lives."

Not the one that counted though, Dean thought. The person he was supposed to save was dead because Dean hadn't been there to protect him.

"It was Sam that did it," Bobby said. "You could never get past what happened to him."

"What did happen?"

Bobby shook his head. "We're not sure. None of us were there. That was another thing that changed you. You think if you'd stuck together, Sam would have been okay."

Dean understood that, he was thinking it already. If he'd not let Sam go off on his own, this could have been avoided. Sam wouldn't have died and Dean wouldn't have changed.

"Here you come," Bobby said, looking out of the window. "I'll leave you two to talk."

He strode out of the door and a moment later Dean's future self came in. "Who let you free?" he asked when he saw Dean sitting on the bed. "Was it Cas or Bobby?"

"You're underestimating us," Dean said, pulling the nail out of his pocket.

His future self rolled his eyes. "I forgot how damn sneaky we can be. Did anyone see you?"

"Only Bobby and Cas, and Cas' harem, which while we're on the subject, what's the deal with Cas?"

"Cas changed, just like the rest of us. I think it was losing his mojo that did it. It was like he didn't know who he was without his wings, so he had to make a new self. Unfortunately, that turned out to be a hippy with a liking for orgies."

"He lost his mojo?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. He's practically human now. He can still sense things, but other than that he's useless."

The Castiel Dean had left in 2009 had a stick up the ass that could double as a broomstick, but he was useful. He didn't think this new version was much use for anything, expect apparently orgies.

"So," Dean asked. "Where did you go?"

"I needed to get this." He set a duffel down on the bed and pulled out a gun, a very familiar gun.

"Is that the colt?" Dean asked.

His future self nodded and stared Dean in the eyes. "It's the colt. And tonight, I'm going to use it to kill the Devil."

* * *

><p>"I don't understand," Dean said. "Why are we doing this now? If you've had the gun for five years, why haven't you tried sooner?"<p>

His future self had just outlined the plan. The two of them were going to head out to the nearby city under the cover of darkness, and there they were going to find the Devil and kill him.

"Because I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready until I saw you."

"But why?"

He shook his head. "You'll understand in five years."

Dean accepted the avoidance for what it was. "And why are we going alone? Bobby and Cas would want to come."

"They would," he said. "But it would kill them. Lucifer would end them as soon as he saw them, and we've already lost too much. They're better off staying here where it's safe."

"And what about you—us—how do you know we've got a chance of getting near Lucifer without being killed straight off?"

"Because Lucifer will want to see me. He won't kill me straight off; he'll want to talk first."

"Yeah, what makes you so sure?"

"Because he'll want me to get a good look at Sam first."

Dean's brow creased with confusion. "I thought you said Sammy was gone."

"Sam didn't die in Detroit. He said 'yes'."

"Yes?" There was a long silence as Dean processed what his other self was saying. ""Wait. You mean—"

"That's right. The big 'yes'. To the Devil. Lucifer's wearing him to the prom."

Dean was filled with a combination of despair and joy. Sam wasn't dead, he was alive, but he was still gone as completely as if Castiel had never brought him back from Hell.

"Why would he do that?" Dean asked.

His future self rounded on him, looking murderous. "Why do you think? Because he didn't know. I don't know how Lucifer did it, but he got the yes vote out of Sam because Sam didn't know any better. And that's down to us. We knew Sam was the vessel that mattered, but we didn't want to tell him."

"Because we're protecting him," Dean said angrily. "Do you remember what he's like in 2009? He's half out of his head with Hell. He can't handle another damn thing!"

His future self grabbed the collar of Dean's shirt and shoved him against the wall. "That's crap and we both know it. I didn't want him to know about Lucifer wanting him as I didn't want him to know just how completely I ruined his life. He went to Hell because of me! He came back to an apocalyptic nightmare because of me. And now Lucifer wants to wear him because of me. We did this to him together!" He released Dean and stepped back. "I need you to learn from my mistakes, Dean. I never saw Sam again after that day in Colorado. I didn't look for him till it was too late. When you get back, go find Sam. Tell him the truth about Lucifer. Keep him with you, keep him safe. Don't let him quit. Drag him back if you have to, but keep him with you."

But Dean couldn't do that. He couldn't force Sam back, not when Sam didn't want to come. He said he needed time away, and after everything Dean had done to him, he deserved that. He deserved some peace.

His future self stared into his eyes, and then turned away angrily. "But you won't, because I didn't. Because I cared more about Sam than the world. Everything that's happening now is my fault, because I loved my brother too much."

* * *

><p>They waited until darkness before setting out. They were both armed with rifles for any Croatoan infected people, and Dean's future self had the colt concealed in an inside pocket of his jacket. Dean didn't feel remotely ready for this, and judging by his expression, neither did his future self.<p>

They made their way out of the cabin and to the jeep that was parked outside in silence, when the silence was suddenly broken by the sound of a gun being cocked.

"And where do you think you two are going?" a gruff voice asked.

Dean spun on his heel and saw Bobby and Castiel standing in the shadows. They stepped forward with dour expressions.

"You know where we're going," the future Dean said. "Why else would you be here?"

"I know where you _think_ you're going," Bobby said. "And you know we can't let you go alone."

Dean's other self shook his head. "You can't come, Bobby. Neither of you can. Lucifer will kill you."

"And what do you think he's going to do to you?" Castiel asked.

"Probably kill me, too," Dean's future self said without concern. "But he won't kill the old me. Zachariah has got his finger on Dean and he'll make sure he gets back home again."

"You're going to kill your own brother?" Castiel asked with a raised eyebrow.

"He's not my brother anymore. He's Lucifer." He sighed. "We don't have a choice. It's in him, and it's not getting out. And we've got to kill him."

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "That's been true for almost five years, so why now?"

"Because of him," Dean's future self said, pointing at Dean. "Look at him, Bobby. He's not even missed Sam yet. In his world, Sam is probably still human. Do you remember how right that world felt? Even with all the crap going on, we thought we were doing the right thing because Sam was safe. But he wasn't safe. He wasn't warned. He was a pig to the slaughter because of us."

"We didn't know," Bobby said.

"Which makes us stupid."

"You do realize that even if you succeed and kill Lucifer, Sam will be lost and the world will not repair itself?" Castiel asked. "Croatoan is out there still. There is no reversing that."

"True," Dean's other self said. "But at least Sam will be at peace. He won't be trapped in the mind of that monster."

"And this isn't some suicide mission?" Bobby asked.

"Would it matter if it was?"

"Yeah, it would matter!" Bobby said harshly.

Dean's future self shook his head. "It's not a suicide mission. It's a lesson. He needs to see Sam so he knows exactly what he's doing wrong in his time. He needs to see Lucifer die so when he gets back to his own time he can track him down and kill him before this whole mess comes into play."

"Fine," Bobby said. "But we're coming with."

The two Deans exchanged a look and their thinking was on the same path. They couldn't let their friends come with them. It would be the death of them. In unison, they raised their rifles and cracked Bobby and Castiel over the head with the butt of their guns, knocking them out cold.

"Sorry, guys," Dean said. "But it's for the best."

The drive passed in silence. Dean didn't know what his future self was thinking, but he was running over what Bobby said in his mind. Were they going into this as a suicide mission? He knew that wasn't the case for him, but what about his other self. Zachariah would made sure Dean got back to 2009, but what would become of his future.

As they pulled to a halt at the side of a rundown building, he voiced his concern. "You're not going in this to die are you?"

"What does it matter if I am?"

"It matters because of Bobby and Cas and all those other people back there. You help them. You've saved them. Who's going to take care of them if you're dead?"

"Bobby can take care of everyone," he said. "He's always been better at it than me anyway."

Dean heard the defeatism in his voice and he knew he was right. Dean didn't want to come out of this alive. He wanted to kill the Devil to make a point and then he wanted to die.

He couldn't let his future self die, he was needed still, so he reached slowly for his rifle. Before his fingers closed around the barrel, he felt a splitting pain on the side of his head and he slumped forward against the dash, consciousness deserting him.

* * *

><p>When he came around, his head was pounding and he was filled with a sense of urgency. He threw himself out of the car and jogged towards the building.<p>

The door was padlocked shut, and he didn't have time to try to pick the lock, so he ran around the edge of the building, looking for another way in. He didn't get far before he came to a screeching halt.

There was a garden with cultivated looking roses growing. Among the flowers were two people. One was standing with his back to Dean and the other was his future self, lying on the ground. He was staring at Dean, trying to communicate something, but Dean didn't know what. There was a foot pressing down on his neck, and as Dean watched, he saw the figure press down and break his future self's neck with an audible crack.

The figure turned and Dean was momentarily taken aback. It was Sam, but not. He smiled slightly as he saw Dean standing behind him. "Oh. Hello, Dean. Aren't you a surprise?"

Thunder rolled across the sky and lightning flashed. Dean stared at Lucifer and his stomach flipped. It was Sam's body and Sam's face, but it wasn't him. Everything about him was wrong; the way he held himself, the way his features were set, the slight smirk, and the eyes. They were Sam's shape and color, but the real Sam could never look so mocking.

"You've come a long way to see this, haven't you?" Lucifer said.

Dean raised his arms, presenting a tempting target. "Well, go ahead. Kill me."

"Kill you?" Lucifer looked down at the corpse at his feet. "Don't you think that would be a little redundant?" He sighed. "I'm sorry. It must be painful, speaking to me in this shape. But it had to be your brother. It had to be."

"Why?" Dean asked plaintively. "Why Sammy?"

"Yes, Sammy," Lucifer said thoughtfully. "Your Sammy. It had to be him because we were made to be one. It always had to be him. I am for him as much as he is for me."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You remember the way he was, don't you?" Lucifer asked. "How broken he was from Hell? I have saved him from himself. He is at peace now, within me."

"Bull," Dean said harshly. "He's a prisoner in there."

Lucifer shook his head. "No, that was what he was before, a prisoner to his own fears. I have freed him. He doesn't hurt anymore."

He reached for Dean, but Dean stepped back, dodging away from his touch. He didn't want this thing touching him.

Lucifer looked slightly hurt. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Dean. What do you think I'm going to do?"

"I don't know. Maybe deep-fry the planet?"

Lucifer pulled at the stem of a rose, examining the flower carefully. "Why?" he asked. "Why would I want to destroy this stunning thing? Beautiful in a trillion different ways. The last perfect handiwork of God."

Dean remained silent. Forcing away thoughts of his brother. He couldn't think of Sam now. He had to be strong in the face of Lucifer's manipulation.

"You ever hear the story of how I fell from grace?" Lucifer asked conversationally. "You know why God cast me down? Because I loved him. More than anything. And then God created..." He smirked. "You. The little hairless apes. And then he asked all of us to bow down before you—to love you, more than him. And I said, 'Father, I can't. These human beings are flawed, murderous.' And for that, God had Michael cast me into hell. Now, tell me, does the punishment fit the crime? Especially, when I was right? Look at what six billion of you have done to this thing, and how many of you blame me for it.

Dean walked away from Lucifer towards the corpse of his future self, He had seen something on the floor beside him and it had given him an idea. "You're not fooling me, you know that? With this sympathy-for-the-devil crap. I know what you are."

"What am I?"

Dean bent, as if to close the wide, staring eyes of his future self, but suddenly lurched forward. He grabbed the grip of the colt and brought it up to aim at Lucifer. "You're the same thing, only bigger. The same brand of cockroach I've been squashing my whole life. An ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you is the size of your ego." He pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into Lucifer.

Lucifer fell back to the ground, his arms splayed out at his sides. The bullet had left a perfect hole in his temple. Now, dead, he looked so much like Sam. With his lax features, it could have been Sam from that room at Bill's. Dean felt a tear well in his eye and as he blinked, it slipped down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he said.

Suddenly, Lucifer's eyes snapped open and he jerked upright. Dean watched, unable to process it as the hole on Lucifer's temple closed and he got to his feet.

"Owww," Lucifer groaned. "That hurt."

Dean took an involuntary step back. He couldn't believe it. The colt killed anything, no matter what; how had it failed?

Lucifer brushed off his suit. "Don't feel too bad, Dean. There's only five things in all of creation that that gun can't kill, and I just happen to be one of them."

Dean shook his head wordlessly.

Something over Dean's shoulder seemed to catch his eye and he smiled. "Goodbye, Dean. We'll meet again soon."

He turned away but Dean shouted after him. "You better kill me now!"

Lucifer turned back, his brow creased with confusion. "Pardon?"

"You better kill me now," Dean said again. "Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won't stop."

"I know you won't. I know you won't say yes to Michael, either. And I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up—here. I win. So, I win."

"You're wrong," Dean said brutally. He would find a way, he had to.

Lucifer smirked. "See you in five years, Dean."

* * *

><p><strong>So… did I succeed? Was it still an interesting chapter?<strong>

**I had to have Dean try his luck with the colt in this chapter, as I couldn't bear the heartache of killing Ellen and Jo later. It was bad enough on the show but with the changed relationships in this story, it would have wrecked Sam and Dean. **

**Till next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks to Gredelina1 for holding my hand while I was working on this chapter and for having the first read of it and telling me it was good.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>_

Dean ran up the porch steps and hammered on the closed door. Castiel came behind him, brow furrowed with concern.

"Missouri! Sam! Open up!"

It was early, not even dawn yet, but he didn't care; he had to see Sam now. There was no time to lose. He had to get to Sam before Lucifer did.

He heard the bolts disengaging and the door opened to reveal Missouri dressed in a high-necked bathrobe. "Dean?"

"I need to see Sam," he said quickly, pushing past her and into the house. "Where is he?"

"He's sleeping. What's happened."

Dean didn't answer her. He raced up the stairs and into the room he had used when he'd stayed here, expecting to see Sam stretched out on the bed. But it was empty. The sheets were pulled tight with corners only Sam would bother with. He knew as soon as he saw the empty room that Sam was gone, but that didn't stop him searching the rest of the second floor for him.

"Dean!" Missouri's voice came from down the stairs and he raced down into the kitchen to see her standing with a sheet of paper in her hand.

"It's from Sam," she said, holding it out.

Dean couldn't make himself take it. The last time he'd read a missive from his brother it had been the letter he wrote after he'd made the deal. Scared of what he would find if he read this one, he crossed his arms over his chest. "What did he say?"

"That he's grateful for her help but he can't stay," Castiel said, reading the letter over Missouri's shoulder.

"That's it?" Dean asked. "He doesn't say where he's going?"

Castiel shook his head. "It is a very brief note."

Dean cursed.

"What's happening?" Missouri asked.

"Sam's in trouble," Dean said. "What happened when he was here? Was there anything that might have made him run?"

She shook her head and then faltered. "Maybe. Pamela came to see him."

"What did she do to him?"

"Nothing really. They just talked.

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "And what did she say?"

Missouri shook her head. "I can't tell you, Dean. That's down to him to say.

"What the hell! Is this some sort of psychic/patient confidentiality?"

Dean usually spoke to Missouri with more respect, but his fear for Sam was paramount. The fact she knew something but was refusing to say had Dean pissed. Sam was his brother. If anyone had a right to know what was going on, it was him,

"I know that's what you think, Dean," Missouri said softly. "But it's not what I believe. I have to respect Sam's privacy."

"Can you stay out of my head?" he said curtly.

She looked downcast and Dean felt a pang of guilt that he quickly stuffed down.

"Is there anything that was said that can be of assistance?" Castiel asked.

"Perhaps. Pamela told Sam he had to get back to the life. When he said he couldn't, she told him to make a new life."

And that could have led Sam anywhere, Dean thought, including Detroit.

"What's in Detroit?" Missouri asked.

Dean ignored the question and asked one of his own. "Do you have _any _idea where he might be going?"

"No, only…" She looked thoughtful. "He's not close anymore. I could feel his pain before, and now it's gone."

Dean turned to Castiel. "Take me back to Bobby's. Maybe he's heard something."

They left Missouri behind in her kitchen and arrived a moment later in the library at Bobby's. Bobby was nowhere in sight, nor was Sam, and Dean felt his fear ratchet up another level.

"Bobby!" he bellowed.

He heard movement above them and then heavy footfalls on the stairs. Bobby looked half asleep as he came into the room but he stiffened and became instantly alert when he saw Dean's obvious panic.

"What's happened? Is it Lucifer?"

"It's Sam," Dean said. "Though the two are interchangeable now."

Bobby paled. "He said yes?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

"Boy, you aren't making a lick of sense."

"He's going to say yes if we don't find him!"

Bobby turned to Castiel. "What's happened?"

"I don't know," Castiel said. I merely retrieved Dean at our appointed time and found him like this. He hasn't explained anything to me but the need to find Sam.

Dean had been pacing the room throughout Castiel's explanation. Bobby caught his arm and made him stop.

"Tell me what's happened," Bobby said sternly.

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "That dick Zachariah bounced me five years into the future. It was a mess, Bobby. Croatoan was raging and we were all living in some kind of same compound at an old camp. And Lucifer… Lucifer had Sam. He'd said yes."

Bobby sucked in a breath between his teeth. "Okay, so Sam said yes _then_, that doesn't mean that's what he's doing now."

Dean shook his head. "I said, the future me said, we never saw Sam again after Colorado."

Bobby snatched up his phone and started to dial.

"I already tried that," Dean said impatiently. "It's going straight to voicemail. Sam's not talking."

"Cas, can you help?" Bobby asked.

Castiel shook his head. "When Anna branded you, she took away my ability to sense you. I could search, but I would be searching the whole country. It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Try that," Dean said. "Get Anna in on the action, too."

It would be tough, but Dean couldn't honestly think of anything else to do. Sam's phone was out of action. He wasn't with Missouri anymore. The only thing they had in their favor was the name of the city Sam had last been known to be in the future. The city he had been when he said yes.

"Cas, start with Detroit."

* * *

><p>By the time Sam climbed off the bus in Sioux Falls, it was shortly after noon. He'd been able to hitch as far as Sioux City and he'd the last of his reserves of cash to get a bus.<p>

His phone had died before he'd left Lawrence, and he hadn't wanted to wake Bobby by calling ahead. He had a simple plan, to get to Bobby's and from there find Dean. He didn't know what he would do after that, but he knew he couldn't shoulder the knowledge that he was Lucifer's vessel alone. Dean deserved to know the truth about his brother, little though Sam wanted to admit it, even to himself. When he'd woken, only an hour after lying down to sleep, he'd known he had to get to Dean. He had to share the news that he'd heard. He couldn't keep himself safe on his own. He needed his brother to help him.

He sighed with relief as he reached the long road that would lead to Bobby's house. He was exhausted. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in days, and he'd had little the night before due to Lucifer's appearance in his dream. It seemed doubtful he was going to get any more for a while either. There was plenty to talk about, not least of all his recent diagnosis courtesy of Pamela: PTSD. He felt a little better having a name for what was happening to him. It would, hopefully, make it easier for him to talk to Dean about it.

He walked through the iron arch that formed the entrance to Bobby's property and wound his way through the cars to the house. He was relieved to see Bobby's Chevelle parked outside; at least he was there. He had hoped Dean might be there, too, but he'd known it was a long shot. Dean had other, more important, things to be doing rather than sitting around at Bobby's place.

Sam wondered if that would be his fate now. He couldn't go back to hunting, it wasn't safe, but he couldn't be alone either. He needed to be around people that knew the truth to keep him safe from Lucifer. He knew Lucifer wouldn't hurt him, he needed him, but he could trick Sam somehow.

He scaled the steps to the porch and knocked on the door. He heard heavy footsteps and then the door swung open.

"Sam!"

He had all of a second to take in Dean's expression, taut with worry and concern, and then he was dragged into a hug that knocked the air from him. He had to fight the urge to shove Dean away, he didn't want the contact, but he forced himself to remain still until Dean released him.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean asked angrily.

"Um, Lawrence?" Sam framed it as a question. He didn't understand Dean's reaction.

"Get in here," Dean said.

Sam followed him into the house. Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands and a glass of whiskey in front of him. There was another glass on the table opposite him, which made Sam think he had interrupted something.

Bobby looked up at Sam and he sighed with relief. "Sam."

Sam realized he was definitely missing something. Dean and Bobby were acting as if he'd been gone for months rather than the matter of days it had been, and they'd known where he had been. He knew something bad must have happened and his gut twisted with fear. "What's happened?" he asked.

Dean and Bobby exchanged a glance, and Sam guessed they were deciding how much to tell him. It aggravated him. He wasn't weak or delicate; he needed to know what they knew.

"Tell me!" he snapped.

"You should sit down," Dean said.

Knowing it was worse than even he'd thought, Sam sat and fisted his hands under the table.

Dean slid the glass of whiskey across the table to him. "Have a drink."

Sam shook his head. "I don't want a drink. I just want to know what's happening." Who was it? Ellen, Jo, Rufus? Or was it someone they didn't know? He hadn't seen a newspaper in days. Was it the world? Had Lucifer's plans been stepped up already?

Dean sat down opposite him. "Sam, we need to talk. I didn't want to have to tell you this, but things have changed and now you have to know."

"Know what?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked across the table at him and his eyes were weary and cautious. "You know I'm supposed to be Michael's vessel?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Has he done something to you? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Dean said, shaking his head ruefully. "It's you, Sam. I…" He raked a hand through his hair. "Dammit! I don't know how to say it."

"It's you, Sam," Bobby said. "You're Lucifer's vessel."

Dean rounded on Bobby. "Do you have to be so blunt? I was easing him into it."

"You were fluffing it," Bobby replied. "He needs to know."

Sam stared down at the table. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears and his fisted hands were shaking. "How long have you known?" he asked.

"Since that night you saw Lilith," Dean said.

They had known the whole time. Ever since he got back. And they hadn't told him.

"I know this is a shock," Bobby said. "But we had to tell you. You needed to be warned."

"A shock?" Sam asked, laughing shakily. "No, it was a shock when Lucifer appeared to tell me the news himself. The shock now is know you've been lying to me for days! Who else knows? Ellen, Jo, Rufus? Or did you put out an all hunters broadcast. You've gotta keep them in the know, after all. But not me. Why should I know the truth?"

One part of Sam's tirade seemed to have stuck in Dean's mind. "You saw Lucifer? What did he do? What did you say?"

"I didn't say yes," Sam said bitterly. "But I could have. He didn't come as himself at first, he came as Jess. It was a dream, I was dreaming of Jess when he changed."

The thrill of horror he'd felt when his girlfriend had transformed into the Devil swept over him again and he shuddered.

"I didn't want to lie to you," Dean said. "I wanted to protect you from this."

Sam understood it, he even thought he'd do the same in Dean's position, but he wished Dean had believed on him enough to tell him the truth. "I should have been told," he said. "What else are you hiding from me?"

"Nothing," Dean said quickly. "There's nothing."

Bobby cleared his throat. "That's not technically true, Dean. There's a few things Sam should know about, like Adam and Chuck.

Dean looked down at the table. "Okay. He's right. There are things you don't know, things that happened when you were gone…"

Bracing himself for more bad news, Sam nodded and waited.

* * *

><p>Dean understood Sam's anger, he would have slugged Sam if he heard he was hiding something this big from him, but he couldn't regret it. Sam had lived without the fear that he was Lucifer's vessel for a few days and that was more than he could have hoped for. Sam could have had a little peace. Now, that peace had been destroyed, and Dean even had to add to it. As if Sam didn't have enough to be dealing with.<p>

He took a deep breath. "Okay, Adam was our brother."

Sam looked at him blankly. "We have a brother?"

"We did," Dean said. "He died."

Sam shook his head. "How is that even…"

"He was our half brother. Dad and his mom hooked up about twenty years ago."

"Why didn't we know?"

Dean shrugged. "Dad was trying to keep him safe I guess. He didn't want him to have our life. Adam didn't meet Dad until he was twelve."

"Seems your daddy got the phone call and dropped everything to see him," Bobby said.

Sam huffed a laugh. "He dropped everything did he, including us?"

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, I guess he did." He wondered what Sam's reaction would be to the fact John had apparently embraced the civilian side of life for Adam, too, taking him to baseball games. He decided he didn't need to know. It wasn't like he was hiding anything big. He was just protecting Sam from disappointment.

"What happened to him?" Sam asked.

"He was killed by a couple of ghouls."

"He was a hunter?" Sam asked. "Did we ever meet him?" He looked thoughtful and Dean knew he was wracking his brain for any hunter they could have met that fit the profile.

"No," Dean said. "He was a pre-med student. Dad…" He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Dad never told him about the supernatural world. He keep him safe."

Sam sighed heavily. "Of course he did."

"Dad killed a ghoul back in the day," Dean said, hurrying on with his explanation. "Back when he met Adam's mother. The ghoul had kids, and when they'd grown, they came after Adam and his mother for revenge. They were both killed."

"What was he like?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. He honestly didn't know what Adam was like. He hadn't exactly taken the time to get to know his before he was killed. He'd been too disappointed that it wasn't Sam that had made the call. And he didn't know whether the ghoul Adam he met bore any resemblance in character to the real Adam.

"He seemed like a good kid," Bobby said, unconcerned by the lack of real information to impart. "Smart. He looked a lot like you."

Sam smiled slightly. "I would've liked to meet him." He looked thoughtful for a moment, but it wasn't the kind of thoughtful that worried Dean. It wasn't like he was hallucinating or lost in a memory of Hell, it was more that he was pondering the life his brother might have had. "So, what's the deal with that Chuck? Is he our brother, too?"

Dean laughed. "No, but it might have been easier if he was. Chuck is a writer."

Sam looked across at him. "Wow, Dean, you made some real interesting friends while was gone. First angels, now writers, did you go to poetry readings too?"

Dean grinned. Sam was taking the news much better than he'd expected. "No, but I did do a lot of reading myself. See Chuck isn't an ordinary writer. He writes about us."

Sam choked a laugh. "He does what?"

"He's a prophet really," Bobby said. "Kinda your personal prophet. He sees you and Dean and writes books about it."

"And people read them?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Some," Dean said. "I know it seems a little crazy, but it's the truth. I have all the books if you want to read them.

"Maybe some other time," Sam said. "It sounds a little creepy reading about myself."

Dean understood that. It had been weird for him too before he realized what a gift the books were, before he knew they were the secret to deciphering Sam. If he told Sam that, he would be inviting in Sam's ridicule, so he stayed quiet.

An awkward silence settled over the room and Dean stared across at Bobby. He seemed to be trying to communicate with him, and Dean guessed he knew what he was trying to say. There was still more for him to say, not least of all where he'd just been and what he had seen there.

Sam seemed to realize this at the same time. "When I got here, you were freaking out. Why? What happened?"

"Zachariah, the angel that broke your legs and… killed you. He paid me a visit."

"Are you okay?" Sam asked hurriedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sam. He didn't hurt me. He just…"

"What?"

"He sent me to the future. It was like something out of a disaster movie. Croatoan was raging. I only met a few people that weren't infected and they were living in a compound. We were all there, you me, Bobby and Cas, only…"

He didn't know how to say it. He didn't know how to tell his brother that he'd invited the Devil in. Sam was still reacting to the news that he was a vessel. Did he really need to know more? Wasn't it better to just tell him it was bad and let that be it?

Then he remembered the intensity with which his future self had spoken. He'd told Dean to learn from his mistakes. Was this the first mistake, wanting to protect Sam?

"Only what?" Sam asked.

"You said yes, Sam," Bobby said. "In that future, you had said yes to Lucifer."

Dean wished Bobby could take back the words. Anything to remove the look of horror from his brother's face.

"I said yes?" He fisted his hands in his hair and bowed his head. "I'm going to say yes!"

"You did in _that_ future, Sam," Dean said. "But you don't have to. You won't this time. In that future, we never saw each other again after we split on Colarado. We've already changed that. You're here. We can change this too. You can make a different choice this time."

Sam looked up and there was desperate sadness in his eyes. Dean hated to see it there. He wished there was something he could say or do to make this better, but he knew there was worse to come. He still had to persuade Sam to stay in the life, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He had to listen to his future self though. He and Sam needed to protect each other from the archangels as much as they needed to protect themselves. They kept each other human.

"You think?" Sam asked helplessly.

"I know," Dean said, forcing certainty into his tone. "We can do this. We can stop ourselves. We just have to stick together."

Sam looked down at his hands. "We can't do that though, Dean. I can't be with you on the hunt. It's not safe."

"It's never been safe," Dean said. "For either of us. So you're dealing with your post-Hell issues, that's not the end of it all. We can work through that together."

"I can't do it, Dean," Sam said desperately. "I can't put you at risk."

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "I don't want this for you, Sam. I don't want you to have to hunt, but it's the only way." He could never know how little Dean wanted it. He wanted his brother to have a safe, normal life, but it was just what he couldn't have. "We have to hunt and we have to stay together. I've seen what us separating does to the world, and we can't risk it. You say it's not safe for me. I'm prepared to take that risk."

"I don't want to hurt you."

Dean forced a smile. "And I don't want to get hurt, but it's better for me to get hurt than the world. I've seen how this ends for us, and it's better that I get hurt now than killed later." He hated to say it, he didn't want to see the look of horror in Sam's eyes, but he knew if anything would persuade him to come back into the life it was this. Sam had died once to save Dean, surely he wouldn't risk it happening again.

Sam sucked in a breath. "You die!"

Dean nodded dourly. "Lucifer killed me, the future me. I saw it happen.

Sam looked stunned for a moment and then he clasped his hands on the tabletop. He seemed to be coming to some decision, and Dean hoped with all he had that it was the right one. Sam had to come back into the hunt, it was the only way.

"Okay," he said. "I'm in. I'll hunt."

Dean sighed with relief. "Thank you, Sam. Really, thank you."

Sam shook his head. "Don't thank me yet. You don't know what you're inviting on board."

Dean wondered what he meant and then he remembered what Missouri had told him, or rather what she hadn't told him. Pamela had been to see Sam, and she'd told him something, something bad enough that she had thought that was why Sam had run. Sam still had something to say, and Dean knew it was something bad.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Dean knew the many tells of Sam, and this was the one he showed when he was fighting the urge to make a run for it. Whatever it was he had to say, he didn't _want _to say it.

"You don't have to tell us, Sammy," Dean said. He wanted to remove the look of anguish from Sam's eyes.

Sam drew a deep breath and seemed to gird himself. "When I was at Missouri's, her friend Pamela came by."

Bobby nodded. "We know Pamela."

"Yeah, she said. Well, she… I guess you could say she diagnosed me." He raked a hand through his hair.

Dean was worried. What possible diagnosis could Pamela have given Sam? Then he remembered what Pamela's day job was, and his worry increased exponentially. "What did she say?"

"She thinks I have Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

Dean felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. PTSD. He knew little about it, but he did know it could get real bad. Psych ward bad.

Contrary to Dean's shock, Bobby looked like his suspicions had been confirmed.

Sam bowed his head and spoke quietly. "She thinks that Hell, what happened there, screwed me up so much I'm broken."

"I don't believe she said that," Bobby said. "She wouldn't have said you were broken."

Sam shook his head. "What does it matter what she said when the end is the same? I'm screwed up, screwed up bad, and now I have to find a way to hunt with that."

"Is there anything she can do?" Dean asked. "Like some kind of treatment?"

"Only pills," Sam said sadly.

"Okay," Dean said brightly. "So we find you a doctor and we get the pills. Then you'll be good again." This was actually better than he'd thought. If they could just find the right pills for Sam, this could be taken care of.

"It's not that easy," Bobby said. "Pills won't magically fix what's happening here. They will just make it a little easier for Sam to handle it."

That was still better than nothing, Dean thought. It was hope where he previously had none.

"How about therapy?" Bobby asked. "I'm no expert but I thought talking was supposed to help."

Sam looked up. "Yeah, she said therapy might help, but I can't talk about it." He shuddered. "I'd be locked up."

"You can talk to us," Bobby said softly.

Sam snorted. "Yeah, 'cause you two are such Chatty Cathy's."

"Don't do us down," Bobby said. "We'll listen if you're ready to talk."

"And if I'm not ready?" Sam asked quietly.

Bobby smiled grimly. "Then we'll wait till you are." He sighed. "I know you want to do this all on your own, Sam, and I understand it, but you can't. You need us. Not only to protect you from Lucifer but to protect you from yourself."

Sam stared down at his hands for a long time, considering Bobby's words. Eventually, he raised his head and nodded. "Okay, when I'm ready, I'll come."

* * *

><p><strong>So… Sam's going to go to Dean and Bobby to talk it out when he needs to. Raise your hands if you think that'll work out… No one? No, me neither. <strong>

**Thanks for the reviews, faves and alerts for the last chapter. I appreciate it more than I can say. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for the late update. Easter with family kept me busy.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>_

Sam jerked awake in the middle of the night, panting for breath, forcing his mind away from a nightmare. It had been Lucifer again. He had come to Sam under the guise of Jess and spoken to him, taunting him with his failures and telling him he was going to say yes. For Sam, the worst part of the dream was the initial second in which he believed he had Jess again before he remembered that it was just a manipulation of Lucifer's.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean asked sleepily.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

Dean pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "You sure? I heard you calling out."

"It was just a dream, Dean. Go back to sleep… please." He wasn't quite able to keep the pleading note out of his voice. He didn't want Dean seeing him like this, weakened. He already looked at him as if he expected Sam to break. What Dean didn't understand was that Sam had already broken. He was just now trying to pick up the pieces and glue them into something resembling a functioning person again.

"Okay." Dean laid down again and turned to face the wall rather than Sam. After a moment, his breathing changed into the soft sighs of sleep and Sam relaxed. He could fall apart now and Dean need never know.

He wouldn't get anymore sleep that night, he knew, so he crept from the bed and down the stairs. He expected to find the library empty, somewhere he could free his emotions from the stranglehold he had over them, but Bobby was sitting at the desk.

As Sam came in, he looked up and a frown creased his brow. "Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. I just couldn't sleep."

Bobby closed the book he was reading. "Nah, me either. Having Lucifer on the loose doesn't make for an easy night's sleep."

Nor did having Lucifer making cameos in his dreams, Sam thought.

Bobby held up the bottle of whiskey from the desk, offering it to Sam, but he shook his head. Instead, he fetched himself a glass of water and sat down on the couch and flipped open the laptop on his knees.

"Looking for a case?" Bobby asked.

Sam had been planning on reading up some stuff on Complex PTSD, but a case sounded like as good an excuse as any. "Yeah, I figure if we're getting back to it, we should sooner rather than later."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"It's apparently what we've got to do, Bobby," Sam said tiredly. "I'm going to get on and do it."

"Dean doesn't want this any more than you do, you know. He wants you to have a normal life."

Sam shook his head. "It's not about having a normal life, not anymore. That ship sailed long ago. It's about keeping people safe. I don't want to hurt anyone, least of all Dean, but if hunting is the only way to keep me from saying yes, it's what I'll do."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "It's not easy though, is it?"

No, Sam thought. It definitely wasn't that.

He turned his attention to the laptop again, and stared at the screen. He didn't want to talk anymore, and he hoped Bobby would accept that and leave him alone. There was no point talking anymore, he was in the hunt now and he would be until they found a way to deal with Lucifer. Then, maybe, he could finally get some peace to sort out his scrambled head. It felt selfish, to be thinking of himself when there was so much more happening in the world, but he never claimed to be selfless.

He heard Bobby draw a deep breath, and he braced himself for more, but Bobby merely exhaled in a rush and became silent again. Sam chanced a glance up at him and saw that his attention had turned to the book he'd been reading when Sam came in. Relieved, Sam set to searching up some information on PTSD. The more he knew about it the better prepared he would be for facing it.

* * *

><p>When Dean got downstairs the next morning, he found Sam sitting at the table with a mug of coffee in front of him and the newspaper open. Dean took a moment to surreptitiously examine Sam, taking in the shadows under his eyes and creased brow. He didn't look good, but Dean had seen him looking a lot worse recently, so he stowed it in the positives column.<p>

"I can feel you staring," Sam said without looking up.

Dean turned away. "I'm not staring. I was reading the headline.

"East Side to get new pizzeria? Big news. You think we should investigate?"

Dean was pleased by Sam's reaction. He almost sounded like himself again, not the forced happy Sam he'd been before the River Pass hunt. Dean wasn't deluded enough to think this was a sign that Sam was really okay, but he was getting there, and that was the important thing.

"I don't know about investigate, but we could definitely check out the pizza," Dean said lightly.

"Count on it. I have a real case if you're interested though. I was looking on the net this morning and I flagged something. I think we've got a werewolf in Iowa."

"Do the moons add up?"

"Yeah, and the heart looks like it was removed. They're calling it an animal attack, but there's something funky"

"Something more funky than a missing heart?" Dean asked.

"How about the fact the victim was at home sleeping next to his wife when it happened and she didn't wake up."

"Okay, that's definitely funky. We should check it out if…" He faltered and Sam looked up at him.

"What?"

"You sure you're ready to get back into the game already?" Dean asked. "Maybe we should take a while longer."

Sam sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "You're the one that said I had to come back into it."

And he wished he didn't have to. He knew Sam didn't want to be hunting and Dean didn't want that for him either. He wanted his brother to be able to take time to take care of himself before being brought back into the game, but that just wasn't an option. They needed to stick together and Dean had to be hunting. The only comfort he could find in the situation was that it was a simple werewolf hunt, something they could handle easily.

"You're right. I did," he said. "But if you're not ready, we can give it a little longer."

Sam shook his head. "Time isn't going to fix what's wrong with me, Dean. We need to accept that now.

Dean hated the defeated note in his brother's tone. He sounded accepting and Dean didn't want that. He wanted his brother pissed and fighting. It was the only way they were going to get through it.

"That doesn't mean you roll over and take it," he said. "We've got to fight this thing."

Sam spoke through gritted teeth. "I am fighting, Dean. Right now, your eyes are black and you look like a demon, but I'm fighting the urge to freak out. I'm doing my damned best already, and I'm sorry if that's not good enough for you, but it's all I can do!"

Dean felt like a dick. He hadn't realized Sam was struggling already. He seemed so calm and normal. He was right. If he was seeing all that and Dean wasn't noticing, then he was already fighting it damned hard.

"Sam, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't realize."

"I'm doing my best," Sam said softly. "I know it's the last thing we need right now, for me to be crazy, but I can't help it." He pushed past Dean and made for the stairs. "I'm going to get my stuff."

Dean watched him go, feeling like a prize dick. He had dragged Sam back into the hunt against his will. He'd not seen that Sam was struggling so bad. And let's not forget, this was all down to him. It was because of him that Sam had gone to Hell in the first place. If Dean had just left things alone, Sam would be at peace now instead of suffering on this rock, facing the end of the world.

"Dammit," Dean hissed, slamming his hand down on the table.

The back door opened and Bobby came in laden with grocery sacks. "What did I miss?"

* * *

><p>Sam wished he hadn't lost it with Dean, but he hadn't been able to help it. To be told to fight, when he was already doing his damnedest, was too much. If Dean understood just how hard it was to get through minute by minute, he would never tell Sam he wasn't fighting. As if it wasn't bad enough that his head kept betraying him and showing him things that weren't there and they were facing a genuine apocalypse, he also had to deal with the knowledge that he was Lucifer's vessel and all evidence pointed to the future in which he said yes.<p>

Dean was uncharacteristically solicitous on their drive to Arlington, even going so far as searching out a college rock station on the radio. Sam had borne ten minutes of it before he'd slammed a cassette into the deck and replaced the whiney music with Zeppelin. He'd felt Dean looking askance at him, but he hadn't turned. He didn't want to see the confusion in Dean's eyes, or the questions. He couldn't tell him he just wanted normal again, and for them normal was Dean's music and Dean studiously ignoring Sam's attempts to incite a heart-to-heart.

When they pulled up outside the town's single motel, Dean went in to book them a room. It was on the tip of Sam's tongue to ask him to get two singles but he resisted. It would mean Sam explaining how much he feared crying out in the night, when Lucifer would come to him, and the less Dean had to worry about, the better for them both.

Dean came out of the office, tossing the room keys from hand to hand. Despite the casualness nature of his actions, Sam could see the slight tightening around his eyes. He was playing at being normal for Sam.

Taking his cue from his brother, Sam said, "I figure we change and go by the PD as feds. Get the details on the widow and introduce ourselves to the local yokels. From there we can go by the coroner's and see the body."

Dean nodded. "Okay, sounds like a plan."

They changed into their suits and headed for the precinct on the edge of town. It was a simple redbrick building with two patrol cars parked outside. Dean threw open the door and strode in, every inch the arrogant agent the locals would be expecting. Dean was much better at this than him, even before Sam's head rebelled against him. He struggled to carry off the act. Dean naturally enjoyed screwing with the cops, as they spent their lives getting in the way of their hunts, so he was happy to play the part of a douchey fed.

He slammed a hand down on the counter and whistled loudly. "Can we get some service?"

A door at the back of the room opened and a man came out dressed in a sheriff's uniform. "Hold your damn horses."

Dean winked at Sam and pulled out his badge. "Agents DeYoung and Shaw. We're here about the Killiminster death."

The sheriff hitched his pants up over his ass and crossed his arms over his chest. "The feds are investigating an animal attack?"

"We're a full service bureau these days," Dean said. "What can you tell us?"

"I can tell you it's an animal attack. The man was mauled."

"We'd like to speak to the widow if we can," Sam said before Dean could irritate the man further. "And we need a copy of the case file."

The sheriff seemed to warm to his polite comparison to Dean. He turned his attention to him and nodded. "I can get you the case file but I don't recommend talking to the widow. She's been through enough lately."

"We understand," Sam said. "But it's important that we get a full picture of the deceased's movements the day he died."

The sheriff stared at Sam for a long moment and then nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

Ten minutes later they left the precinct with a copy of the case file and directions to the widow's house and the local coroner's office. The sheriff had shaken Sam's hand and completely ignored Dean. Far from being bothered, Dean seemed to think it was amusing.

He shoved Sam's shoulder as they made their way back to the car. "I think he liked you, Sammy."

"Yeah, because I didn't call him an mouth breathing yokel under my breath."

"You think he heard that?" Dean asked innocently.

"I think so."

Dean laughed as he unlocked the door. "Was worth it to see his face. He was a mouth breathing yokel anyway. Deputy Dawg could have given him a run for his money in the skills stakes."

Sam smiled. This was Dean, the teasing and the annoying cops, not the softly spoken, college radio imposter that had driven across from Sioux Falls. Sam much preferred the real version of his brother that the ersatz imitation. Their situation sucked. Sam was broken and they were facing the end of the world, but it was better to be facing that with his real brother.

* * *

><p>This was where Sam was at his best, Dean thought, watching him talk the widow through what had happened. He was radiating compassion and sympathy without words, something Dean had never mastered.<p>

"So when you woke, in the morning, you found your husband beside you," Sam said softly.

The widow nodded, wringing her hands. "I don't understand how it could happen. How could an animal do that? Why didn't it attack me too?"

"Does your husband have any enemies?" Dean asked.

The woman looked up, confusion creasing her brow. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's a standard question," Sam said gently. "We need to know everything."

She looked down at her hands. "I don't think so… Only… Well, the night he died, we had been arguing. It got a little heated, but I promise you I had nothing to do with this."

Sam nodded. "We don't believe you do. But, if you don't mind, what were you arguing about?"

She sighed heavily. "John liked to play cards. I thought it was innocent enough till I saw our checking account. He'd cleared it out to pay his debts and he still owed more. I don't know how I'm going to be able to pay for it all with the funeral too."

Dean looked around the house. It was grand enough, with antique looking ornaments and paintings. It didn't look like the Killiminsters were short on cash.

The widow saw Dean's obvious surveillance and she spoke bitterly. "We spent all we had buying this place. When I saw it, I had to have it. It's over a hundred years old, you know?"

"And it's lovely," Dean said blandly. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

"It's up the stairs at the end of the hall."

Dean excused himself and made his way upstairs. He checked the doors, looking for the master bedroom. It was probably a pointless exercise, but it was hunter's habit to check all angles, and he was hoping some evidence would have been left behind by the less than impressive local cops.

The bed had been stripped but the mattress was still stained with blood. He imagined waking up next to a corpse, sans heart, and he shuddered. The poor woman would probably be in therapy for the rest of her life.

He got onto his knees and scanned the carpet but there was nothing to see, not even a stray hair. Dissatisfied, he made his way back down the stairs in time to hear the widow telling Sam she was moving out of the house that day.

"I just can't stay, not after what happened to John. I'm going to stay with my sister."

"Does she live close by?" Sam asked. "Just in case we have any more questions."

"She's got an old place out on Park Avenue. It's a nice house."

Sam nodded. "Okay, well thanks for your assistance. If we need anything more, we'll be in touch."

When they had made their goodbyes and were back in the car, Dean asked, "What do you think. She our wolf?"

"I don't know. It's possible, but I don't think so. She seemed too traumatized to be hiding something."

"That doesn't necessarily means she's in the clear though," Dean said. "Remember Madison? She had no idea she was a wolf until it was too late. And there's the fact she claimed to have slept through the attack. I've seen werewolves in action before and they weren't exactly stealth killers. No, my money's on her being our White Fang."

Sam sighed heavily. "Yeah, I guess."

"What's up?"

"I didn't want it to be her. She seemed nice enough. It's not her fault that she's a wolf any more than it was Madison's. It's not her fault there's something dangerous inside her."

Dean frowned. "No, but it doesn't excuse what she did. She killed a man."

"Maybe," Sam said. "I'm just saying I can relate."

"You're not dangerous, Sam," Dean said doggedly.

"I'm Lucifer's vessel, Dean. I have demon blood in me. It doesn't get much darker than that." He turned away and stared moodily out of the window.

Sam may have had darkness in him, but not that he put there himself. The demon blood was Azazel's doing and the PTSD Lilith's. If it made him dangerous, something Dean still wasn't convinced of, it would be their fault, not Sam's. He also had a lot of good in him too. And it was that goodness that had saved Dean from the pit. Love had driven Sam to that crossroads, and Dean wouldn't let him forget it.

"Hey!" Dean slapped his shoulder. "There's nothing dark in you, Sam. Nothing you can help. You're not like her. You haven't hurt anyone."

"You keep telling yourself that, Dean, right up until I put the gun to your head."

With that cheering thought ricocheting around his head, Dean gunned the engine and pulled out onto the main road again.

Sam was quiet for the drive over to the coroner's office. Dean tried to talk a couple of times, but Sam answered in monosyllables, so Dean quit trying. He had his own thoughts to occupy him. Was Sam right. would he really hurt Dean one day? Dean tried to find some fear in that, but he just couldn't believe it. Sam had died to save Dean, how could he hurt him after that? No, Dean was safe with Sam. Even if he wasn't, he would change nothing. He would want Sam in the car beside him, hunting with him, as that was the only way their lives made sense.

He pulled the car to a stop in front of the coroner's office and climbed out. Sam followed him, straightening his tie and smoothing his jacket. Ready to play the part of a fed again, Dean swung open the door and gestured Sam in ahead of him. There was a reception area, but no one was sitting behind the desk, so Dean knocked on the door heavy brown door that he guessed led to the morgue.

After a moment's waiting, the door swung open and a smiling man appeared. He was thin to the point of emaciation and had a thick black beard. He frowned as he saw them. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

In unison, Sam and Dean held up their badges.

"Wow, FBI," the man said. "I'm Doctor Grant. What can I do for you?"

"We're here to see the Killiminster body," Dean said.

The man nodded energetically. "Sure, come on in. I'm just working on him now. I have something you'd like to see."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and made their way through the door into a room that was a homage to stainless steel industries everywhere.

On a table in the center of the room was the corpse of who they guessed was John Killiminster. His chest and abdomen were split wide with the V-shaped incision.

"What can you tell us?" Sam asked.

"I can tell you this wasn't an animal attack."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"No gore marks for one. And there's this." He pointed to the skin around the incision and Dean saw what he meant. There were no gore marks, but there was a ripped skin around the area that would have laid over his heart. There were broken ribs too. It looked like someone had punched a hole through his chest. He had seen this before.

"What could do something like that?" Sam asked.

"A bear would have the strength to hit that hard," Doctor Grant said. "But they don't usually go for punches. They like to rake their claws over their victims. Other than this, the man's clean. And there's this." He picked up a Tupperware bowl and handed it to Sam.

It was a pulpy mess of gristle, but Dean thought he had an idea what it used to be. Like the punched out chest, he had seen this before, he had felt it.

"It's the heart," Doctor Grant said. "Looks like someone has put it in a vice, right?"

Sam and the doctor fell into discussion of what it could be, but Dean didn't pay them any attention. He was thinking of the last time he had seen something like this, of the way it felt when Henriksen shoved his hand through Dean's own chest and squeezed his heart. Could it be the same again? Were they in danger? Was _Sam_ in danger. Were the Witnesses back?

* * *

><p>Sam saw Dean pale and he knew it was something more than the ripe scent of John Killiminster getting to him. He needed answers, so he gave the doctor his card in case there was anything new and then made their excuses.<p>

When they got outside, Sam caught Dean's arm and turned him. "What's going on?"

"I've seen this before," Dean said. "It's the Witnesses."

"Witnesses?"

"Last year, after you… when you were gone, me and Bobby went up against the Witnesses. They were ghosts dragged into being by Lilith as one of the seals. They were going after hunters!"

"Okay," Sam said calmly. "So it's ghosts. We've dealt with them before. They'll probably be easier to deal with than a werewolf. We just need to know where they're planted and we can take care of it."

"You're not listening," Dean said stridently. "They're going after hunters!"

"So we'll call Ellen and she can put the word out to everyone. Hunters are the best people for them to be targeting. We know how to deal with ghosts."

"Didn't work out that well last time," Dean said bitterly. "Four of Bobby's buddies were taken out, and Henriksen was seconds away from finishing me off when Bobby blasted him full of rock salt."

There were a few things in that sentence that didn't make sense to Sam, not least of all the fact Henriksen had apparently almost killed Dean. He realized that he knew little about the year he had been gone and what had happened to Dean in that time. When he'd made his deal, it had been to save Dean, but he hadn't considered the fact he could have saved Dean just to have something else take him out. Why hadn't he told Dean to stop hunting? He'd told him to do whatever made him happy in the letter he'd written, when what he really should have said was to do whatever made him safe. He understood why Dean was reacting as viscerally as he was now. Having been almost killed by them once, it was no surprise that he was jumpy about them now.

"So rock salt works?"

"For about a second," Dean said. "There was a spell that dealt with them last time. Bobby knows what it is."

Sam handed over his cell phone. "Then get the details. These Witnesses need to be put down." And it had to happen soon. He hadn't brought his brother back from Hell just to lose him to some damn ghost.

Dean took the phone and dialed. He explained to Bobby what was happening and then trailed off, looking a little embarrassed. He wondered what Bobby could possibly saying to Dean to make him look like that, but then Dean spoke and some of his questions were answered. "Well, how was I to know? It looked the same, Bobby! Okay, okay. So what else can it be? Uhuh. We'll look into it." He ended the call and handed the phone back to Sam, looking sheepish.

"What did Bobby say?" Sam asked.

"That it's not the Witnesses and that I'm a numbskull. Apparently, the Rise of the Witnesses is a onetime gig. Not even Lucifer could pull it off again."

"So no ghost?"

"No, he thinks it is a ghost, just not a Witness."

Sam sighed. That didn't exactly narrow things down. If it was a ghost it could be anyone. Anyone with a link to the people or the house anyway. They were going to have to do the legwork for this one, which meant research.

"Let's get back to the motel," he said. "I need my laptop."

Dean groaned. "I know that face. You're looking forward to a long night of research, aren't you?"

Sam smiled. "Yeah." He was looking forward to it in a way. This was something he could do for the hunt that not only didn't put anyone in danger, but it was something he was good at. No amount of hallucinations or flashbacks were going to interfere with that.

* * *

><p>Sam was wrong. Hallucinations weren't the problem, nor were flashbacks, but his mind seemed to have shrunk considerably over the last eleven months. He just couldn't focus on what he was doing. It didn't help that Dean was doing his very best to annoy the crap out of him. It was nothing new, Dean had always been a pain when he had nothing to occupy him, but Sam's nerves were stretched thin with his frustration and for every time Dean clapped his hands together and asked, "Anything yet?" Sam had to bite his tongue to stop himself responding with a shouted curse.<p>

Eventually, he suggested, through gritted teeth, that Dean go out and get them something to eat.

"You want to come?" Dean asked.

"No, you go, I'll keep working."

"You sure?"

Sam looked up and saw that Dean looked stressed. It aggravated him which made his next words sharper than he intended. "You can leave me for more than a minute at a time. I'm sure Lucifer won't find me and get the yes vote in the time it will take you to walk to the diner and back."

Dean frowned. "That's not what I'm worried about."

"Then what's the problem?"

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. "Look at yourself Sam. You're fried and it's only been a couple hours. I don't know if this is something to do with the PTSD or maybe you're just tired, but you look like you're about to throw a punch."

Sam looked down at his hands and saw they were fisted on the laptop's keyboard. His breath was coming faster than usual. He really did feel like he wanted to punch something. It made no sense, Dean wasn't being _that_ annoying. He had skimmed most of the symptom lists of PTSD, feeling that he already knew what they were as he was living with them, but now he thought he might have to do another pass.

He slowly unclenched his hands and took a calming breath. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm just… tired I guess. We'll eat and I'll come back to this tomorrow." After another night of broken sleep and visits from Lucifer. "I'll feel better then."

Dean surveyed him carefully and then nodded. "Okay. I'll go get us something to eat. You want anything special?"

"Just the usual," Sam said.

"One portion of rabbit food coming right up."

Sam waited until the door had clicked closed behind Dean and then he got to his feet. He made a couple of passes up and down the room, trying to calm himself, but it was no good. Now Dean was gone and there was no need to act, he could let his frustration out. His hands fisted at his sides and he gritted his teeth. He wanted to shout and scream and vent his anger at the dire situation he was living with, but he couldn't. If he opened that floodgate, there would be no closing it. He had to stay calm if not for his own sake but for Dean's. He was already worrying about Sam, the last thing he needed was to add fuel to that fire.

* * *

><p>When Dean got back to the motel, Sam was sitting at the computer again and he seemed vastly different from the broiling ball of emotion Dean had left behind. Before he left, Dean had been sure Sam was going to throw a punch, but now he merely looked bored as he skimmed through the article he had displayed on the screen. Dean took a closer look and saw the tightness around the jaw and eyes, and he realized Sam was still on edge, he just was hiding it better now. He wished he wouldn't bother, bottling things up never ended well, but he didn't know how to say that to his brother. He satisfied himself with snapping the laptop closed and putting the plastic container of salad on top.<p>

"Eat now, research later," he said.

Sam took the fork Dean was offering and opened his package of food. "I think I've maybe found something," he said.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"I realized I was going about it the wrong way. I was looking at what made John Killiminster special, when I should have been looking at the house instead. Turns out it has a history of strange deaths. Back in ninety-three there was a murder there. The wife was taken in for it but she killed herself before it got to trial. The cops at the time thought she had bludgeoned him to death."

"But?"

"But the crime scene photos I lifted from the PD archive look a lot like what we saw today in the morgue."

"Why wouldn't Deputy Dawg have mentioned it?"

"Because he was the arresting officer," Sam said with a forced smile. "He's got to be realizing his mistake now he's seen it happen again. And that's not the only death. I can't get any more information as the case is so old, but in the sixties there was another murder there. I think it's our ghost."

"So you think the ghost is tethered to the house?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. One thing I don't understand is how they're picking the victims. The house is old and I've only been able to find anything about those three deaths. The only other death is from when the house was first built and that was a suicide. The woman hung herself."

Dean shrugged. "Does it matter? We've got to find out who the ghost is and take them out. That's what matters here."

"How are we supposed to figure out who the ghost is though?"

Dean had been wondering that too, but then an idea occurred to him. If the ghost was tethered to the house, there was a good chance they would be able to see it there if they went looking. At the very least they could do a sweep for EMF. He rubbed his hands together. "Sammy, we're going ghost hunting."

After they'd eaten, they changed out of their fed suits, loaded up on salt rounds and drove over to the Killiminster place. Dean hoped the widow hadn't changed her mind about going to her sister's, as it would take some explaining if she found them creeping around her house with shotguns. There was no car in the driveway though, so Dean figured they were safe.

They checked the street for onlookers before jogging to the back of the house. Sam knelt and got to work picking the lock, but after a minute's effort, he stood and moved to let Dean try. Neither of them said anything about it, but Dean had noticed the way Sam's hands shook as he tried to work the lock.

With a few swift twists, Dean had the door open and they were inside. Raising his shotgun, ready to fire, Dean led them though the rooms in the ground floor of the house. Finding nothing, they exchanged a glance and made their way upstairs.

As soon as they reached the master bedroom, Dean realized something was wrong. The air had dropped to a chill and his breath misted in front of him.

"Heads up, Sam," he said. "I think our ghost is about."

Then it happened so fast he didn't have a chance of stopping it, even if such a thing was possible. He saw the shape of a woman materialize in front of him and then she lurched forward. He was knocked to the floor and his breath rushed out of him. Then he felt an icy coolness invading him and then all went dark.

* * *

><p>"Dean!" Sam shouted as Dean was knocked to the floor. He raised the shotgun, ready to shoot, but the ghost seemed to have disappeared. He pointed the gun into the corners of the room but they were empty.<p>

Dean got to his feet and turned to face Sam. He tilted his head to the side and surveyed Sam carefully. He looked like he was appraising Sam and finding him lacking. Sam didn't understand what was happening until Dean's mouth opened and he spoke in a voice that wasn't his own. It wasn't his usual deep tones and it was more breathy.

"Sam, I'm so glad you could come. I was hoping to talk to you and your brother, and here you are. I am so happy."

"What have you done to Dean?"

"I have merely… borrowed him for a while."

Sam understood. This was the ghost. The thing that had killed three times that they knew of was in his brother.

"I saw you today, talking to Pauline, and I knew why you were here. You came for me. Too bad you can't have me."

Sam raised the shotgun and spoke through gritted teeth. "Get out of him!"

"I shall not. I have been waiting for this for a century, to be real again, and now I have it, I am not letting go."

"You can't leave," Sam said confidently. "You are tethered to this house. You try to go and you will be pulled out of Dean."

"Then I shall stay here. It's not so bad."

"I'm going to kill you," Sam vowed.

Dean tutted. "I don't think you will, not while I am wearing your brother. You have fought so hard against it already, haven't you? I can see Dean's memories, and he knows how hard you have tried to keep him safe. You even walked away, abandoning him, to save him. That hurt him, you know?"

"You're lying," Sam said.

"Am I? You don't think so, not really. You know he was thinking it. How could Sammy leave after everything he did to keep you safe? He went to Hell for you, Sam. And he burned there. The things he did, you wouldn't believe."

Sam shook his head. He couldn't listen to what this thing was saying with Dean's mouth. He had to block it out. Then Dean spoke again, and Sam took an involuntary step back.

"You remember Hell, don't you, Sam? You remember Lilith and Alastair and the many things they did to you. I have a question, or more specifically Dean does, he's just afraid to ask."

Sam's heart was pounding in his ears but the things the ghost was saying made him need to know more. What had Dean been afraid to ask?

"How did you not break?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam lied.

"Oh, but you do. Every day, after the pain would come the offer. Get off the rack in exchange for putting others on. They made you that offer for a hundred years and yet you didn't break. How?"

Sam didn't want to talk about this, but the ghost's question gave him an idea. He needed to know who it was so when he got out of there, he refused to think if, he and Dean could take the ghost down.

"I'll answer your question," he said. "If you answer mine."

Dean's head tilted to the side as the ghost considered the proposition. "That sounds fair. What do you want to know?"

"Who are you? The real you."

"My name is Eliza Partridge."

It was as Sam had guessed. This was the woman who had killed herself all those years ago. "Why are you killing now?"

"Not so fast. You have to answer my question first."

Sam exhaled in a rush. He didn't want to talk about this even with Dean, especially not with the ghost that was riding his brother, but he felt compelled to answer. "I didn't break because of Dean," he said. "I knew Dean would never break, so I couldn't either."

Dean's head was thrown back and he laughed raucously. "That's too precious. You didn't break because of Dean. You lasted a century of Hell because you thought your brother would last too. Oh, Sam, your faith in him is both touching and deluded."

Sam shook his head jerkily. He thought he knew what the ghost was trying to say and he didn't believe it. Dean wouldn't have broken.

"He broke," Eliza said with glee. "Just weeks before you saved him. You should have been faster, Sam. You could have saved him from himself."

Sam shook it off. He didn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. Dean wouldn't have broken. He had already proved he was better than Sam, stronger.

"Have you considered, Sam, how much easier things would be for you had you broken yourself? You wouldn't be as damaged as you are now. I see it all, you know, in your brother's mind. How scared he is for you, how worried. He doesn't think you will ever be the same again, and he hates himself for it. After all, you went to Hell for him, so everything that's happening now is down to him. As if it wasn't bad enough that he send the world careening towards its end, he broke the person he cares most about above all others."

Sam raised his shotgun. "I'm giving you one last chance. Get out of Dean or I will blow you full of rock salt."

"And what will you do if I don't? You can't hurt me, even Dean knows that. For all your fear, he knows you could never hurt him."

Sam's finger twitched on the trigger. He was scared to fire, scared to hurt Dean, but he knew what Dean would want and it wasn't to be ridden by a ghost for the rest of time.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said heavily as he pulled the trigger.

* * *

><p>Dean gripped the curved lip of the tomb's heavy, stone lid and helped Sam shove it aside. The effort pulled against his injured abdomen. Getting shot with rock salt wasn't nearly as dangerous as pellets, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch.<p>

"So, Eliza Partridge, huh?" he said.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Any idea why she went vengeful?"

"No."

Dean frowned. "Then what the hell took you so long to shoot? I was out about ten minutes. What was she doing?"

"I told you, Dean. She was just taunting me and saying crap."

"Yeah, you did, but you didn't tell me what."

Sam picked up the can of salt and poured it over the remains they had uncovered. He refused to meet Dean's eye, so Dean tugged on his shoulder and held it there until Sam looked up. It was underhanded of him, to use Sam's aversion of touch for his own purposes, but he needed to know.

"She could read your mind," Sam said. "And she knew about me. She just taunted me with stuff like that."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said heavily.

Sam shrugged. "It's not your fault. You couldn't control what she said."

There was something more though, something Sam was hiding. Dean could tell. He wondered what it was. What had the ghost seen in his mind that Sam wouldn't want to share? There was only one thing that Dean was still concealing from Sam from shame, and Dean didn't believe it had been that. Sam wouldn't be so calm and easy with him if he'd known what Dean had done in Hell.

When Dean had been brought back to awareness with a searing pain across his gut, Sam had been frantic. It had been at least a minute before he had calmed down enough to stop apologizing and take notice of the fact Dean was okay though sore. If Sam had known the truth, he wouldn't have been concerned for Dean, he'd have been demanding an explanation.

No, Dean's secret was safe for now.

* * *

><p><strong>So… Poor Sammy's PTSD is rearing its head and he's struggling. Dean thinks his secrets safe and Sam ain't talking. What did you think, goodbad/indifferent?**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks to all that read and reviewed the last chapter. I love hearing from you. Thanks go to Gredelia1 who went above and beyond in the role of support for this chapter. Love you, hon xxx**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Twelve<strong>_

"No, it must have been a bear," Kathy Randolph said. "I mean, what else could it have been?"

Sam blinked tiredly, struggling to stifle a yawn. He was bone tired and the last thing he wanted to be doing was questioning the widow about the death of her husband, but this was where the hunt had led them and he had to be hunting.

At Dean's insistence, they'd taken a few weeks off to do some research in Bobby's library about Lucifer—that was what he'd said anyway. Sam was sure Dean's sudden desire to hunker down at Bobby's had less to do with research and more to do with giving Sam a break. Not that he was complaining. His symptoms had been pretty intense and the time away from civilians had been opportune. Dean and Bobby, though concerned, didn't question it when he would lose himself to a hallucination for a while. They would wait it out patiently, and offer comfort when he came out of it. He couldn't expect that from other people.

Eventually, Dean had been forced to concede that there was nothing in Bobby's books that would help them with Lucifer, and he'd agreed when Sam had suggested that it was time for them to get out on the road again. It wasn't altruism that had Sam advocating the hunt, it was the fact that Pamela had said he needed normal, and hunting was their normal.

Dean caught his eye, his brow furrowed with concern, and Sam realized he had been zoned out too long to be excusable. He took a deep, calming breath and asked, "Mrs. Randolph, what do you think it was?"

"No, I, I remember clearly now," she said nervously. "It was definitely a bear."

"We're sure it was," Dean said smoothly, clasping his hands on the tabletop. "But see, it helps us to hear every angle. So just tell us what you thought you saw."

He was better at this now, Sam thought. Dean would usually have left him to question the witnesses, claiming he was better at it, but as Sam was obviously struggling, Dean had taken over, and he was doing well. Sam guessed Dean'd had plenty of practice dealing with traumatized witnesses in the ten months Sam had been out of action.

Kathy breathed out a shaky breath. "It's impossible, but I could have sworn I saw...the Incredible Hulk."

Sam was startled out of his reverie. "The Incredible Hulk?"

She looked apologetic. "I told you it was crazy."

"Bana or Norton?" Dean asked curiously.

"Oh, no, those movies were terrible." She shook her head. "The TV Hulk."

Sam zoned out, while Dean and Kathy discussed the description of the 'Hulk' that had killed her husband, as his heart rate quickened and the blood rushed in his ears. The windowed wall opposite disappeared, and he was faced with the ancient and rusted rack again. In his mind's eye, Lilith gestured him forward, a bloodied razor in her hand.

He clenched his fists under the table, feeling his nails cutting into his palm, and shook his head jerkily. It wasn't real, he reminded himself, just his brain screwing around on him again. There was nothing in that quiet police station that could hurt him. Nothing but himself.

He heard the scraping of a chair against the linoleum floor, and Dean's voice. "Well, thanks for your time. If we think of anything else, we'll be in touch."

"Sure," Kathy said doubtfully. "Hey, is he okay?"

Sam realized she was talking about him and he forced himself to look up at her. Her features were soft with concern, and Sam guessed he must have been looking pretty freaked out if he had strangers worrying about him. He smiled apologetically but didn't stand; he wasn't sure his legs would hold him upright just then.

"He's just fine," Dean said easily. "It's a migraine thing."

Dean saw her to the door and Sam heard it click closed behind her. Then Dean's hand rested on his shoulder and his worried voice asked, "_Are_ you okay?"

Sam inhaled a shaky breath. "Just need a minute."

Dean sat down opposite him in the chair Kathy had just vacated, and looked into Sam's eyes. "What's happening?"

Sam shook his head jerkily. "Nothing important."

Dean sighed. "Sam, you need to tell me what's going on. I can't help you if you don't."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, summoning patience. He knew his irritation wasn't equal to the situation; he was just displacing his anger about his condition to his brother, so he didn't speak until he was sure he could hold himself in check.

"I'm just seeing crap. Nothing new."

"You want to duck out on this one? Head back to Bobby's for a while?"

"No. I'm okay," Sam said. Dean raised an eyebrow and Sam grimaced. "I'm as good as I'm going to get, that better?"

"Not really." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "Okay. How about I go by the victim's house, have a look around for clues—or the Incredible Hulk—and you go back to the motel and get some shuteye?"

Sam nodded tiredly. He doubted he'd rest, but he could use the time alone to let loose some of the tension roiling in him. Shout, rage, punch a wall, all the things he couldn't do when Dean was there. He didn't think Dean was oblivious to just how messed up he was, but that didn't stop him wanting to shield his brother from the worst of it. It was what they did for each other.

* * *

><p>Dean sighed as he shouldered open the motel room door. He'd told Sam to go back to the motel to rest, but Sam had obviously not been listening. His face was illuminated by the light of the laptop, sending the shadows under his eyes into sharp relief. He looked up as Dean swung the door closed behind him and it was brought home to Dean, once again, how wrecked his brother looked. Sam tucked his hands under the table, and Dean guessed he was trying to hide reddened knuckles. Not a good sign. When Sam resorted to punching walls, it meant he was really struggling.<p>

"Hey," Sam said casually. "Find anything?"

Ignoring the elephant in the room, Dean nodded and shrugged off his jacket. "Well, I saw the house.  
>And there is a giant eight-foot-wide hole where the front door used to be. Almost like, uh—"<p>

Sam frowned. "A Hulk-sized hole."

Dean nodded. "What you got?"

Sam turned the laptop so Dean could see the PD file displayed on the screen. "Well, it turns out that Bill Randolph had quite the temper. He's got two counts of spousal battery, bar brawls, and court-ordered anger management sessions. You might say you wouldn't like him when he's angry."

Dean snorted. "A hothead getting killed by TV's greatest hothead. Kinda sounds like just desserts, doesn't it? It's all starting to make sense."

"How is it starting to make sense?" Sam asked.

"Well, I found something else at the crime scene." Dean pulled out the handful of candy wrappers he'd found in the wooded area beside the Randolphs' house. "Candy wrappers. Lots of them."

Sam looked puzzled for a moment and then he sighed. "Just desserts, sweet tooth, screwing with people before you kill 'em—we're dealing with the Trickster, aren't we?" Whereas Dean was feeling relieved that they knew what they were hunting, Sam looked angry. Dean figured he had good reason to be. The last time they'd come up against the Trickster, he had trapped Sam in an eternal Tuesday, killing Dean repeatedly. Dean wasn't exactly thrilled at the possibility of seeing him again either, but he had an idea, and seeing the Trickster was a vital part of it.

"Sure looks like it," he said.

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, we're going to need to load up on stakes."

"You sure?" Dean asked.

Sam frowned. "Why wouldn't I be? Dean, the asshole killed you a hundred times over. He's lucky we've let him live this long."

"Hey, I'm all for revenge," Dean said, raising his hands. "What I mean was are you sure you wanna kill him?"

"If we're not killing him, what are we doing?" Sam asked.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. He didn't much want to work with the Trickster, but he didn't have a lot of options, and this was the best idea he'd had so far. "We could try talking to him?"

Sam merely looked his confusion.

"Just think about it, Sam. He's one of the most powerful creatures we've ever met. Maybe we can use him."

"For what?"

"Okay, Trickster's like a Hugh Hefner type, right? Wine, women, song—maybe he doesn't want the party to end. Maybe he hates this angels and demons stuff as much as we do. Maybe he'll help us.

"You're serious. Ally with the Trickster."

Dean nodded. "I'm just saying it's an option when we have none." He sighed heavily and turned away from Sam. "The world is gonna end, Sam. I know this is a lot when you're already dealing with too much, but we don't have the luxury of a moral stand. It's worth a shot. That's all. If it doesn't work, we'll kill him."

Sam was silent so long Dean turned back to make sure he wasn't stuck in a hallucination again. He wasn't, he was looking down at the tabletop, chewing his lip thoughtfully. "Okay. I'm in. We'll see if we can get the Trickster on board, but Dean, how are we supposed to find him?"

Pleased that he had Sam's agreement, albeit grudgingly given, Dean smiled. "Well, he never takes just one victim, right? He'll show."

* * *

><p>An hour later, while Dean sharpened stakes and Sam stared blankly at the laptop screen — Dean didn't know what he was doing, and he didn't ask — a crackly voice came over the police scanner and Dean's interest was caught.<p>

"Um, Dispatch? I got a possible one-eight-seven out here at the old paper mill on Route six?"

Dean dropped the stake down onto the bed and twisted the volume dial. Sam looked up from the computer.

"Roger that," a voice replied. "What are you looking at there, son?"

"Honestly, Walt, I, I wouldn't even know how to describe what I'm seeing. Just—send everybody."

"All right, stay calm, stay by your car. Help's on the way."

Dean clicked off the scanner and turned to Sam. "That sounds weird, right?"

"Weird enough to be our guy?"

Dean got to his feet. "Only one way to find out, I guess."

As they drove along Main Street, heading to the old mill they'd passed on the way into town, Dean looked askance at Sam. He was sitting low on the seat, staring out of the window.

"You okay, Sammy?" he asked.

Sam looked across at him and nodded. "I'll be fine."

At least it wasn't an outright no, Dean thought, which had to count for something. But his conscience pricked at him. He was the one that had pulled Sam into this hunt, both the one for the Trickster and in the wider sense. Sam didn't need the added stress on what was clearly a particularly difficult day for him.

"You sure you're up for this?" he asked. "'Cause I can go in alone."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, 'cause nothing bad ever happens when we split up. No, I have to come with." He smiled slightly. "Someone's got to have your back."

Dean couldn't argue with that. Of all the fuglys they'd gone after, the Trickster was one of the slipperiest; he'd lived this long after all. Lilith, Azazel, they'd met their match in Sam and Dean, for good or bad, but the Trickster was still kicking.

Sam leaned over and flipped the stereo on. _Zeppelin's_, _Ramble On_ came on and Dean frowned despite the presence of one of his favorite songs. Sam turning the radio on was a clear sign that he was done with their conversation. He wanted to protest, to find out what Sam was trying to avoid talking about, but he saw Sam's set jaw and realized there was no point. Sam wasn't going to be talking.

They came to the old mill and climbed out of the car, grabbing the stakes and a flashlight apiece out of the trunk. Dean looked around and realized something was wrong. The lot was empty. There was no sign of the cop that had called in the alert or the backup he'd been promised. It all looked decidedly ordinary.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and their grip on the stakes tightened. Dean jerked his head toward the door and Sam nodded. They were going in.

* * *

><p>The door was heavy and rusted, and Sam had to pull hard on it to get it to open. He saw a cavernous room, with high ceilings and rust spotted walls. He stepped forward and there was the disorienting sensation he remembered from when the angel Anna had taken him to Missouri's and then he blinked rapidly, sure what he was seeing wasn't real. The empty warehouse had been replaced with a corridor with people milling around.<p>

Sam looked to the side and sucked in a breath. Dean was wearing navy, hospital scrubs and a white coat. Looking down, he saw he was dressed the same.

This was a definite spin on the usual hallucinations, he thought. Or maybe it was a nightmare. He'd had some pretty weird dreams since coming back, mainly featuring Lucifer and Lilith, but there was no rule that said a comic relief type couldn't slip through the cracks. He pinched his arm hard, but he remained alert and, he was forced to conclude, awake.

"Dean," he said softly, "I think something's going on."

"Ya think?" Dean said incredulously. He turned and opened the door they'd come in through, but instead of the industrial area with the Impala, they were met with a supply closet where two people were kissing furiously.

"Dean!" An edge of panic worked its way into Sam's voice and Dean looked at him with concern.

"Just… take a deep breath, okay. This isn't your head screwing with you. I'm seeing it all too. I'm…"

He trailed off as two young women in scrubs walked past them.

"Doctor," they said, one by one.

Dean nodded to them and then turned to Sam. "I'm seeing it all too, okay, Sam?"

Sam nodded jerkily. "What is it?"

Before Dean could answer, another young woman approached them. She raised a hand and Sam realized—a moment too late to block it—that she was going to slap him. Luckily, Dean's reflexes were better than Sam's, and he caught her arm before the blow landed.

"What the hell?"

Paying no attention to Dean, despite the fact he was still gripping her wrist, she said in an exasperated tone, "Seriously."

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Seriously? You're brilliant, you know that? And a coward. You're a brilliant coward."

"Um. What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"As if you don't know!" She cast Sam another look of exasperation and stalked away.

"I don't believe this," Dean said in a slightly breathless tone.

"What?"

"That's Dr. Piccolo. Dr. Ellen Piccolo. The sexy yet earnest doctor at—" He turned and pointed to a sign on the wall. "Seattle Mercy Hospital."

Sam's head was spinning. This was all too bizarre, even for him. He would have preferred a Hell hallucination to this. At least he was the only one that had to suffer through them; this time Dean seemed to have been dragged along for the ride.

"Dean," he said slowly. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The doctor getups. The sexy interns. The 'seriously's. It all makes sense."

"What makes sense? What's going on?"

"We're in _Dr. Sexy, MD_."

Sam closed his eyes, fighting to stay in command and control of himself. This was too much. He'd been dragged out of Hell by an angel, and he was coping. His family and friends had tied him to a chair and attempted to exorcise him, and he managed. Hell was creeping in all over, making him see things that weren't real and scaring the crap out of him a lot of the time, but he could deal with it. But this… This was one thing too many in what had become a nightmare of a year. Darkness threatened at the edges of his vision and he swayed on his feet.

"Sam! Sammy! Hey!" A hand was gripping his shoulder hard, and he looked into Dean's concerned face. "You're okay."

Sam shook his head. "No. No, I can't be here. I can't do this."

"You can," Dean said firmly. "It's a trick, okay? The Trickster is screwing with us, just like he did last time. Now, I need you to hang on a little longer, stay with me, while we track his ass down and get him to let us go from this whole mess. Can you do that?"

Sam nodded. "I can do it."

Dean smiled grimly. "Good. Now… Holy crap!"

"What?" Sam asked, panicked.

"It's him," Dean said. "It's Doctor Sexy."

If Sam hadn't been fighting to control his panic, he would have been amused by the awed tone Dean used. He was clearly a fan.

The man in question, Doctor Sexy, came to stand in front of Sam and Dean, greeting them each in turn. Dean nodded at the greeting, but Sam remained silent. He was struggling with the surreal nature of what was happening. He was used to Hell hallucinations, they were par for the course with him, but something about this new situation was worse. He wished more than anything that they were back in their motel, alone, or better yet, at Bobby's again.

"You want to give me one good reason why you defied my direct order to do the experimental face transplant on Mrs. Biehl?"

Sam wasn't sure what happened next, it was too fast for him to track. One moment, Dean was talking to the doctor, the next he was pinning him to the wall. "You're not Dr. Sexy,"

"You're crazy."

"Really? Because I swore part of what makes Dr. Sexy sexy is the fact that he wears cowboy boots, not tennis shoes."

The doctor looked supremely unconcerned. He looked to a nurse that was hovering and said, "Call security!"

"Yeah, go ahead, pal," Dean said. "See, we know who you are."

The activity around them ceased as the doctor grinned. Everyone froze in mid-action, everyone but Sam, Dean and Doctor Sexy—whose face was shimmering as if in a heat haze. A second later, they were looking into the eyes of the Trickster.

"You guys are getting better!" he said, sounding impressed.

"Get us the hell out of here!" Dean demanded.

The Trickster looked up and down the corridor. "Or what?" He grabbed Dean's arm, gripping it tightly and Dean released him, twisting away from the pain. "Don't see you have any wooden stakes, big guy."

"That was you on the police scanner, right? This is a trick," Sam said.

"Hello? Trickster. Come on! I heard you two yahoos were in town. How could I resist?"

"Where the hell are we?"

"Like it? It's all homemade. My own sets." He rapped the glass mounted in one of the doors and gestured around at the frozen people. "My own actors... Call it my own little idiot box."

"How do we get out?" Sam asked.

"That, my friend, is the sixty-four-dollar question."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. We need to talk to you. We need your help."

The Trickster tapped his chin. "Hmm, let me guess. You broke the world and you want me to sweep up your mess."

"Please," Sam said a little desperately. "Just five minutes. Hear us out."

The Trickster grinned. "Sure. Tell you what. Survive the next twenty-four hours, we'll talk."

Sam felt a creeping of unease settle through him, separate to the panic he was already feeling. "Survive what?"

"The game!" the Trickster said with glee.

Dean's jaw tensed. "What game?"

"You're in it."

"How do we play?"

"You're playing it."

"What are the rules?"

The Trickster grinned and vanished. The movement in the halls returned and a doctor, one of the ones that had greeted Sam and Dean before, wandered up the corridor calling Doctor Sexy's name.

Sam took a deep breath and marshaled himself into calm. Twenty-four hours, he could survive that. He'd survived ten months of Hell, ten months that Dean said translated to a century; he could do this.

"You good?" Dean asked, concern lacing his tone.

"Yeah. I can do this."

They set off along the corridor again, and Sam wondered what was going to happen next. Were they supposed to hang around the fake hospital for the next twenty-four hours? It seemed simple enough, which was why he doubted it. The Trickster wouldn't have gone to all this effort just to watch them wandering the halls for a day. He had proved in the past that he didn't mind hurting them, hell, he'd killed Dean a hundred times, so Sam had to expect there was pain coming.

They turned a corner and a man stepped out of one of the rooms. "Hey, doctor."

Dean turned to him. "Yeah?"

"My wife needs that face transplant."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay. You know what, pal? None of this is real, and your wife doesn't need jack squat. Okay?"

The man's face twisted with anger. Sam and Dean turned away from what was sure to be a cheesy rendition of his lines — the Trickster's cast was more than a little stale — and continued down the hall.

"Hey, Doctor."

Sam turned automatically when he heard the voice, so he saw the man raise his gun. It was too fast for him to do anything but grip Dean's shoulder and watch in horror as the man pulled the trigger and sent a bullet winging its way into Dean. Sam saw the blood spurt from the wound and his stomach twisted with panic.

Dean dropped to his knees, arching his back. "Real—it's real—"

"No no, no, no, no, no, no, no," Sam was panicked and his voice rose to a shout. "Hey! We need a doctor!"

* * *

><p>Dean lay on the operating table, unable to see a thing but the white shoes of what he guessed were his surgical team. He recognized Sam's as—not only were they the largest—they were shifting nervously. He was struggling again. That wasn't good at the best of times, but when Dean was stuck staring at the floor with a bullet in his back, it was even worse.<p>

"Sam?"

"I got it," Sam said, and Dean felt a sharp pain at the centre of his back that he guessed was the bullet being pulled out. As far as wounds went, he'd had plenty worse and more painful, but it still wasn't a relaxing experience, especially as he heard a woman's voice saying something about his blood pressure dropping.

Sam's feet moved as he shifted again, and Dean could clearly imagine the deer-in-headlights look Sam would be sporting. He didn't know if was because Sam was being forced to operate on his brother in some wackadoo false reality or whether Hell was making a reappearance in Sam's mind, but he knew he needed to help him, except he couldn't do a thing to help Sam stuck as he was, so he had to get unstuck. Unfortunately, that meant Sam had to push through it and help him.

"Sam, you gotta do something," he commanded.

"I don't know how to use any of this crap."

That was one question answered. It was the immediate situation that was freaking Sam out. If he could just push through and fix Dean up — he was sure it would just be a couple stitches — Dean could get up and about again.

"Figure it out," Dean said. "Sam. Come on. I'm waiting."

"Okay. Um. I need a penknife, some dental floss, a sewing needle, and a fifth of whiskey." There was a beat of silence and then Sam's voice came again, more firmly. "Stat!"

All but one pair of shoes in Dean's line of sight disappeared, and those that remained were no longer shifting. Sam had found his calm. Pleased, Dean closed his eyes and waited for the pain that would be Sam's field surgery to end.

It took a few minutes of tugging and pulling before he heard Sam's relieved exhale. "That's it, you're done."

Dean grinned and prepared himself to finally get off the table when the floor in his vision disappeared to be replaced with flashing lights. The ambient sounds of the room disappeared and a drumbeat took its place.

Dean felt the disorienting sensation of being shifted, the same feeling he had when Castiel was bouncing him around, and then he found himself standing upright with his legs spread. His feet were encased in strange boots and he was on a platform of some sort. There was a pole against the base of the podium with a large ball on the end. Dean was pretty sure that had the pole been upright, it would have aligned perfectly with his crotch. Flinching inwardly at what he suspected was coming, Dean looked across to Sam.

Sam was identically positioned and his jaw was clenched. Dean shook his head sadly. Sam really didn't need this. He was having enough trouble with things that weren't real already; this trick had to be some kind of nightmare for him. Dean decided there and then that if the Trickster wasn't going to help them take care of Lucifer, he was going to kill him for the sheer aggravation that he'd caused.

The door behind them flew open and a man rushed through, raising his arms above his head and gabbling in rapid—Dean guessed—Japanese.

"Let's play Nutcracker!"

The host's countenance became solemn and he turned to Sam. "Sam Winchester…" He continued to speak, but Dean didn't understand a word of it. He inclined his head to Sam and said, "Countdown." The clock that had registered twenty when they'd arrived began to tick down.

Sam looked confused. "What? Uh, what am I supposed to say?"

"You think I know?" Dean asked, an edge of fear in his tone.

Sam turned to the host. "Uh, I, I don't, I don't understand Japanese."

The host spoke again in rapid Japanese and then, as the countdown reached zero, he said, "Ruby!" He bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Sam Winchester."

"Sorry?" Sam turned to Dean with desperation in his eyes. Despite what he'd said, Sam wasn't handling this. He couldn't handle it. It was too much for his tortured mind to take, and Dean had a feeling it was about to get much worse. "Dean!"

The pole on Sam's podium snapped up and the balls thwacked into Sam's crotch. Dean watched, horrified, as Sam bowed over himself and his face reddened with pain.

"Nutcracker!"

"You okay?" Dean asked nervously.

Sam was still gripping himself and there were tears of pain in his eyes. At Dean's question, he looked up and Dean saw fear mixed with pain in his expression. Dean felt useless, unable to move let alone comfort his brother.

The lights behind them flashed and the doors opened again. Castiel marched through.

"Cas?"

"Is this another trick?" Sam asked in a querulous tone.

"It's me. What are you doing here?" He looked from Sam's pained and panicked expression to Dean's obvious confusion and anticipation of his own pain.

"Us? What are you doing here?" Dean asked.

"Looking for you. You've been missing for days."

"So, get us the hell out of here then!" Dean was genuinely afraid for Sam, physically and mentally, and his voice was harsh.

"Let's go." Castiel reached for them both and then disappeared in a burst of static.

The host stepped forward. "No, no, no, no. Mr. Trickster does not like pretty-boy angels." He pulled out a new card and Dean was pretty sure he knew what was coming, a suspicion that was confirmed when the host said his name followed by a burst of Japanese.

"What do I do, what do I do?" he asked anxiously. "I don't wanna get hit in the nuts."

"I don't know," Sam said then a gleam came into his eye. "I, I, uh, just, uh—wait. I played a doctor."

Dean's brow furrowed. "What?"

"In _Dr. Sexy_ I played a doctor. I operated. I played the role the Trickster wanted me to play. Maybe we should just go along with it."

"Go along with what?"

At Sam's side, his hands were shaking, but he spoke in a measured tone. "With the game! You know, we're on a game show, right? So just answer the question!"

"In Japanese?" Dean said incredulously. "I don't know Japanese!"

"Try!" Sam ordered.

"Dammit!"

Dean's hand slammed down on the button just in time. The countdown stopped and he took a deep breath. Sam had said he needed to play his role, so he would try. Certainty crept over him. He could do this. The Trickster wanted them to play the game, so there was some failsafe in place. He spoke, and instead of the simple yes he planned to say, a burst of Japanese came from him.

The host repeated what he'd said, and Dean replied, again speaking in Japanese. It was bizarre to hear himself spouting the language and not having the slightest idea of what he was saying.

The host threw his cards into the air and cheered. "Dean Winchester, Nutcracker champion!"

* * *

><p>There was something freeing about giving over your will to something else, Sam thought. As soon as he'd realized the only way out was to play his part, he felt a weight leaving his shoulders. He wasn't happy by any stretch of the imagination, but he was acting it. From the Nutcracker show, they'd gone into a commercial about some STD treatment, and now he was standing outside a set, bracing himself for the next step of the game.<p>

He stepped through the door, into a set that bore a striking resemblance to the motel they'd been in before everything had gone to hell. "Hey there, Sam. What's happening?" Dean asked brightly.

Sam forced a smile. "Oh, nothing. Um. Just the end of the world."

A tinny laugh track sounded, sending a chill down Sam's spine. It wasn't the crowd laughing, they were looking at him as if seeing right through him, through skin, muscle, and bone to the dark and twisted soul he possessed. Shaking off the thought, he turned his attention to the monster-sized sandwich on the table.

"You're gonna need a bigger mouth."

The canned laughter sounded again.

Like a whisper in his ear, Sam knew what he had to say next. He knew the part he needed to play. "Hey, uh, have you done your research yet?"

Dean wore the look he'd always worn when he'd been caught in some wrongdoing. It was his 'busted' face. "Oh, yeah. All kinds of research. All night."

"Yeah?"

A door opened and a young, dark-haired woman clad only in a skimpy bikini stepped out. There were wolf whistles from the audience, but Sam froze. Despite the fact she had taken a new meat suit, Sam knew who she was as he saw her demonic face flickering above the normal. It was Lilith.

"Oh, Dean..." she said smoothly. "We have some more research to do."

Sam's breath caught in his throat and his stomach twisted with fear. Dean had killed her, but maybe the Trickster had the power to resurrect her. He'd done it to Dean a hundred times over. She was here. Or was she. Was he hallucinating again? How was he supposed to know what was real when he was being taunted by a Trickster in a bizarre false reality and his brain was betraying him. He felt overwhelmed.

Oblivious to his brother's rapid spiral into outright panic, Dean turned to the audience. "Son of a bitch!"

"Dean?" Sam said in a whisper. "Something's wrong.

The crowd laughed for real this time. They were gleeful at Sam's decline. It was what they wanted. They wanted to see him losing his mind.

"Dean. I can't…"

His feet moved to the woman's—Lilith's?—side and he gripped her shoulders—touching her!—leading her to the door. He felt his jaw moving and words spilling from him, though he had no control over them. "I am really, really, very sorry, but, uh, we've got some work to do."

The crowd laughed again, mixing seamlessly with the laugh track, joyous at his capitulation. As if he didn't see, or didn't notice Sam's horror, Dean spoke in a low voice. "How long do we have to keep doing this?"

"I don't know," Sam said querulously. "Maybe forever?"

The audience cheered and clapped, finally getting what they wanted—Sam's defeat. That was what did it. It was the final straw. Sam couldn't take anymore. He wanted to be away from this. He closed his eyes and prayed for peace.

* * *

><p>The door opened and Castiel walked inside. His face was battered and there was a cut below his eye.<p>

Forgetting the need to play his role for the moment, Dean asked if he was okay.

"I don't have much time," Castiel asked.

"What happened?"

"I got out."

"From where?"

"Listen to me. Something is not right. This thing is much more powerful than it should be."

"What thing—the Trickster?"

"If it is a trickster," Castiel said darkly.

Dean was about to ask what he meant, but Castiel was suddenly flung back against the wall. The door flew open and the Trickster appeared. Applause and cheers greeted his arrival. "Hello!"

Castiel turned and Dean saw that his mouth had been duct-taped shut.

"Thank you. Thank you, ladies," the Trickster said. He turned to Castiel who was glaring at him. "Hi, Castiel!" He waved a hand and Castiel disappeared in a burst of static again.

"Where did you send him?" Dean asked angrily.

"Relax, he'll live. Maybe."

"All right, you know what? I am done with the monkey dance, okay?" Dean's jaw clenched. "We get it."

"Yeah? Get what, hotshot?"

"Playing our roles, right? That's your game?"

"That's half the game."

"What's the other half?" There was something about Sam's tone that pulled on Dean's instincts. Before, he had sounded tense and close to breaking, whereas now he sounded disinterested. Dean's eyes snapped to him and saw he looked distant, as if he wasn't all the way there. It was the same look he got when he was seeing crazy crap.

"Play your roles out there," the Trickster said with glee.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know. Sam starring as Lucifer. Dean starring as Michael. Your celebrity death match. Play your roles."

Dean gaped at him. "You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?"

"Hells yeah. Let's light this candle!"

"We do that, the world will end!"

"Yeah? And whose fault is that? Who popped Lucifer out of the box? Hmm? Look, it's started. You started it. It can't be stopped. So let's get it over with!"

"Heaven or hell, which side you on?" Dean asked.

"I'm not on either side."

"Yeah, right. You're grabbing ankle for Michael or Lucifer. Which one is it?"

"You listen to me, you arrogant dick. I don't work for either of those S.O.B.s. Believe me."

"Oh, you're somebody's bitch."

The Trickster grabbed Dean's collar and thrust him up against the wall. "Don't you ever, ever presume to know what I am. Now listen very closely. Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and play the roles that destiny has chosen for you."

"And if we don't?" Sam asked blandly.

"Then you'll stay here in TV Land. Forever. Three hundred channels and, uh, nothing's on." He released Dean and turned to Sam. "You're going to break. Sooner or later, you will say yes, and you know it. There's no fighting it, Sam. I told you that once, and you didn't listen. Remember how that ended?"

Sam stared into the Trickster's eyes. "I remember."

"Then you know I am telling you the truth now. Embrace your destiny, Sam, and have some peace."

Sam nodded slowly and blinked. Had Dean not been watching him carefully, he wouldn't have believed what he saw. Sam seemed to sag while remaining upright and something in his eyes, something indefinable, disappeared. It was as if he was asleep while standing.

"Sam?" Dean asked, fear gripping him. Sam didn't react at all and Dean's worry ratcheted up another level. He crossed the space between them in long strides and gripped Sam's jaw hard. "Sam! Snap out of it!"

"Okay…" the Trickster said. "I didn't see that one coming."

Dean rounded on him. "What have you done to him?"

"Me? Nothing. This is all on Sam." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, I can see this isn't going to work." He snapped his fingers and the brightly decorated set disappeared. They were in the grungy warehouse again, and Sam was still not moving.

Dean gripped Sam's shoulders and looked into his blank eyes. He ducked his head, trying to break Sam's stare into nothing, but it was useless. Sam looked right through him. He'd seen Sam like this before, when he'd first come out of the pit, when he'd believed he was still in Hell. Knowing everything he did about his brother's fragmented mind, he had to wonder what Sam was seeing now.

"What did you do?" Dean shouted, rounding on the Trickster.

"I didn't do _that_," the Trickster said. "I didn't mean to… How was I to know he'd… I'm gonna just… Yeah. Good luck with that," the Trickster said, and Dean turned in time to see him disappear with a snap of his fingers.

Dean turned back to his brother and gripped Sam's shoulders hard, hoping to get some reaction, any reaction. "Sam!" He barked, and then his voice became shaky. "Sam, please."

Sam didn't move. He continued to stare through Dean as if he wasn't there, and Dean realized that for his brother, he wasn't.

He was alone.

* * *

><p><strong>So… Sammy's checked out and Dean's alone. This was one of the harder chapters to write, as I knew I needed to include the Trickster and TV Land but I didn't want it to be a bland recitation of the script. I am hoping I did enough to make it interesting for you to read. Let me know. <strong>

**In other news… My Sastiel story is written! It is with the pre-reader now so I will have it posted as soon as I can. **

**If you are a Cross That Bridge reader, I will have a chapter up for you sometime this weekend. **

**Some shameless self-promotion: I have eighteen stories on my profile so if you're looking for something to entertain you this weekend, have a look. If you want recs or advise, drop me a PM. **

**Till next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks for all the love for the last chapter. Canon events chapters always make me nervous as I am never sure if I changed enough to make them interesting. This chapter is definitely not canon. It's my brain going off an a tangent of whump. I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Thirteen<strong>_

Kenny Rogers was playing on the radio. Bobby muttered the chorus as he stirred the chili. He'd cooked far too much for one, but he figured it'd keep till the boys got back from their latest hunt. Though he'd never admit, he missed their company when they left.

They'd all been at the house for a few weeks lately, searching down clues for the Lucifer problem—and to give Sam a break—and it'd been good. It reminded Bobby of the old days in which John would drop the boys off while he took care of a tough hunt. The boys weren't really boys now, they were grown men, but Bobby still felt the same need to shield them as he'd done when they were children. Each in their own way, they needed to be shielded. They were both struggling. Sam under his Hell-induced PTSD and Dean under the weight of guilt for what he'd done and the return of his brother—damaged as he was. It was too much for anyone to handle alone, and Bobby tried to take some of the strain himself when he could. Not that it was easy. Sam and Dean were proud to a fault, and Dean had dogged determination to handle everything that came at them alone.

He heard the distinctive rumble of an engine and he smiled to himself. The boys were back just in time for dinner. He took the pan from the heat and set out three bowls. He retrieved the sour cream from the fridge and waited.

His brow furrowed as time passed, and the boys didn't come in. He peered out of the window and saw the Impala parked out front beside his Chevelle and Sam sitting in the shotgun seat but there was no Dean. Just then, there was a pounding at the door. Worry creeping in, he crossed to the door and opened it.

Dean stood on the porch, and for a moment Bobby feared the very worst, as he looked wild-eyed and panicked. Then reason caught up with him—he'd seen Sam in the car and he looked okay—and he breathed again.

"I need help!" Dean turned away and jogged back to the car. He opened the passenger-side door and leaned down to talk to Sam.

Something was wrong, Bobby realized. Something was very wrong. He closed the distance and stood beside Dean at the car. "Is he hurt?" he asked, peering around Dean's shoulder and searching Sam for a sign of blood or injury.

Dean ignored his question and spoke to Sam in a low voice. "Sammy, we're at Bobby's. You're okay now."

Bobby waited to hear Sam's voice, perhaps irritated at Dean's uncharacteristic solicitousness, but it didn't come. Dean stepped back, his hands coming up to his hair and tugging on the short strands, and Bobby got a good look at Sam for the first time. If he couldn't see his open eyes, he would have said Sam was asleep. His face was slack and expressionless. His breathing was steady and relaxed, no hitching breaths or deep inhales that were normal for a person when awake. He blinked periodically but that was the only movement in his face that Bobby could discern.

"Sam?" he said in a measured tone. "You okay?"

Sam didn't respond. He just stared out of the windscreen as if oblivious to their presence.

"He won't answer," Dean said in a dull tone. "He hasn't spoken since…" He shook his head. "I messed up, Bobby."

"What happened?"

Dean shook his head. "Long story. I'll tell you in a minute. Let's just get him inside."

How?" Bobby wondered, but as he stepped out of the way, Dean answered that question for him. He bent and pulled Sam's legs, turning him gently so he was sitting sideways on the seat, his feet planted on the ground.

"Up you come, Sam," he said gently, placing a hand on Sam's shoulders and easing him out of the car. With Dean's assistance, Sam rose to a stand, but he showed no sign of desire for independent movement. He just stood, staring out at the yard.

"Get his other side, will you," Dean said.

Feeling awkward and tense, Bobby stood on Sam's right side and gripped his elbow. It didn't seem that Sam needed the support, he was standing on his own, but Bobby felt a little better as he made contact.

With Sam standing between them like a remarkably lifelike doll, they made their way across to the porch. Bobby wondered how they were going to manage to get him up the steps, but Dean answered that question for him. "Come on, Sam, up you go."

Sam lifted a foot slowly and made it up the three low steps without a problem. Sam was aware of what was happening around him, that was clear when he followed Dean's instructions, but it was as if he was unable to react. Not a man easily scared, Bobby was terrified.

They couldn't get Sam into the house standing as they were, so Bobby released Sam's elbow and watched as Dean repositioned himself in front of Sam and gripped his hands. Slowly, Sam allowed himself to be tugged forward and into the house. Dean led him into the library and eased him down onto the couch. As soon as Dean released him, Sam sat back against the cushions and let his hands flop down onto his lap again.

Dean stared down at him for a moment, horror etched into his features, and then turned away to face Bobby. "I need a drink."

Bobby felt the same need, so he took a bottle of whiskey from the desk and poured two glasses. Dean gulped his down and set the glass carefully on the desk again.

"So, what happened?" Bobby asked.

"The damn Trickster happened."

"He did this to Sam?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." Dean took a deep breath. "It's a long story."

"Consider me a captive audience."

Haltingly, Dean filled him in on what had happened to them, from the Incredible Hulk hunt to them being trapped in TV land. "We were talking with the Trickster," Dean finished, "and he said something to Sam and he just… I don't know… switched off."

"What did he say to him?"

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "Something about what happened before—I think he means the eternal Tuesday of Death he trapped Sammy in—and finding some peace. Yeah, he said: 'find some peace'."

Bobby looked to Sam and raised an eyebrow. It looked like he'd done that all right.

"You think the Trickster _did _this to him?" Dean asked. "He said it was all Sam, but it makes sense. He's powerful, more powerful than a regular Trickster according to Cas; he could have flipped the switch on Sam somehow."

"I think it's our best theory," Bobby said. "But that brings a whole new set of problems with it. How the hell are we going to persuade him to unflip it? How do we even find him again?"

Dean cursed. "I should have stuck around. All I could think about was getting Sam back here, where he's safe."

The problem was that, even if they found him, there was no way of making the Trickster talk if he didn't want to. Bobby didn't know how much of what had happened to Sam when they last met with the Trickster had been shared with Dean, but Sam had told him about the months he'd had spent living without his brother after the last time he'd seen Dean killed. The creature that had made Sam live in misery for six months merely to impart a message wasn't likely to find them to fix what he'd done now.

"Where is Cas?" Bobby asked. "Maybe he's got some insight into this."

"I've not seen him since the Trickster blasted him away last time."

"Try calling him up," Bobby said. "He can't sense us since Anna gave us those snazzy rib etchings; maybe he's floating around somewhere looking for us."

Dean raised his eyes heavenward. "Cas, buddy, I need you. I'm at Bobby's place and Sam's in trouble."

There was no answer of fluttering wings or dry voice.

Shaking his head bitterly, Dean turned away and sat beside Sam on the couch. Though Sam was jostled as the couch cushions redistributed the weight, he made no other move to show he was aware of what was happening. He hadn't moved at all during Bobby and Dean's conversation either. It was like he just wasn't there.

Undeterred by Castiel's absence, Bobby called to the next person he thought could help him. "Anna, can you come by my place. We need help. Something's happened to Sam and we—"

"I'm here," Anna said behind him. Bobby turned and saw her features twist with confusion and then sadness as she caught sight of Sam and Dean. She didn't seem to need an explanation for why they were calling her, either because Sam's condition was obvious to her or there was some kind of angel-mojo happening.

"How did this happen?" she asked.

"The Trickster, we think," Bobby said. "The boys tangled with him and he said some stuff to Sam and he's been like this ever since."

"Can you…" Dean's voice broke and he cleared his throat. "Can you help him?"

Anna shook her head. "I wouldn't even know where to start. I don't know much about Tricksters. I don't know what form their magic takes or how to undo it."

"Cas said this wasn't an ordinary Trickster," Dean said. "He was too powerful."

"Then I am even less able to help you," Anna said and then frowned. "Where is Castiel?"

Dean shrugged. "No idea. The Trickster blasted him away."

Anna shook her head. "We need him. I should go find him."

Without another word, she disappeared, leaving Bobby and Dean staring at Sam, who seemed not to have noticed the angel's arrival or exit.

* * *

><p>Dean didn't know what he was expecting from Anna—maybe a miracle cure for Sam or some insight into what had happened. What he wasn't expecting was for her to be as clueless as he felt or for her to disappear. While a part of him understood that the best way to help Sam was to know what exactly the Trickster had done to him, he resented her leaving so soon. With her there, it felt that there was some layer of protection for Sam, some answers to be had. Without her, he felt lost and alone again.<p>

He thought back to the journey across from Ohio and the chilling fear that had grown with every mile as Sam refused to snap out of it. He'd done almost everything he could think of to get through to Sam in that warehouse, shouting, begging, gripping him so tight it had to hurt, but nothing had worked. Eventually, he'd been forced to concede that he wasn't going to reach Sam like that, and so he'd brought Sam back to the one place they could feel safe, even if only for a little while.

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He felt lost and more than anything, he wanted to talk to Sam, but there was no point. He might as well talk to the carpet for all the good it would do. He felt sure that, if their positions were reversed, Sam would have a solution, a way to reach him. Hell, he'd managed to communicate with Dean when he was in a coma after the car crash, busting out the Ouija board, why couldn't Dean come up with something that would do the job too? He felt useless.

"Dean," Bobby said softly. "Something's different."

Dean's head jerked up and he looked at Sam, hope filling him, sure that Sam was coming out of it. His hope was baseless though. The only thing that seemed to have changed was that Sam's eyes were blinking more slowly and his breaths were deeper. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. Sam was falling asleep. He had to fight the urge to shake Sam. He was worried that if he fell asleep, he wouldn't wake up again. Reason caught up with him, awake or asleep Sam wasn't exactly engaging with the world. He had to be exhausted, Dean was. He'd driven the long ride from Ohio without more than a five minute bathroom break. He had been running on adrenaline until that point, but now it seemed to have washed out of him.

Sam eyes closed and didn't open, and his shoulders slumped as sleep took him. Dean felt the urge to settle down beside him and sleep, too, but he couldn't rest while Sam was like he was. He had to be searching for a cure.

He got to his feet and cracked his knuckles. "So," he said bracingly, "how are we going to find the Trickster?"

Bobby shook his head. "I don't think we can, Dean. I've read all the lore that there is on them, and I never found a way to summon one. We can try searching one down the old fashioned way—looking for the kills—but I'll be betting he'll be laying low after last time."

"What do we do then?" Dean asked, a hint of desperation leaking into his tone.

"We wait for the angels to make a reappearance. They're our best bet at fixing Sam."

"And what do we do while we're waiting for them?"

Bobby sighed and looked from the sleeping Sam to Dean's haggard countenance. "Nothing. We just wait."

* * *

><p>Dean wasn't aware of doing it, but he must have fallen asleep, as the next thing he knew he was being gently shaken awake by Bobby. He looked to the side and saw that Sam was awake again, staring at the opposite wall blankly.<p>

"What's happening?" he asked sleepily.

"Cas is here."

Dean's drowsiness deserted him and he straightened. Castiel and Anna were standing by the door, both looking solemn.

"Dean," Castiel greeted him then his eyes slid to Sam his mouth pressed into a thin line. "Sam."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, marshalling his thoughts. "Can you fix him?" He didn't hold out much hope that he would be able to, but he had to ask.

Castiel shook his head. "No, there is nothing an angel can do."

Dean cursed and pushed himself to his feet. "Okay, can you at least help us find the Trickster? I figure if we can talk to him, we can persuade him to take back whatever he did."

"It wasn't the Trickster that did this, Dean," Castiel said. "No angel has the power to disconnect a person's mind the way Sam's has been. Not even an archangel has the power to do that."

"What have angels got to do with anything?" Bobby asked. "We're talking about the Trickster."

"To talk about one is to talk about both in this instance," Castiel said cryptically.

Dean was confused and overwhelmed. He needed answers but all Castiel was doing was giving him more questions. He turned to Anna, hoping she would be able to talk some sense, and she obliged.

"The Trickster you know is not a demi-god as we thought. It is an archangel, the archangel Gabriel."

Dean gaped at her. "Gabriel, as in 'I bring you tidings of great joy' Gabriel?"

Anna smiled slightly. "Yes. He disappeared many millennia ago, shortly before Lucifer fell. We thought he was dead all this time."

"But why would he, an archangel, be pretending to be a Trickster?" Bobby asked. "It makes no sense."

Anna shrugged. "I don't know, but it's him. Castiel recognized him."

"Awesome," Dean said bitterly. "An archangel put the whammy on my brother and now he's… disconnected."

"It wasn't Gabriel," Castiel said. "He doesn't have the power to do this."

"Then what the hell did he do?" Dean asked. "'Cause Sam wouldn't just switch off on his own!"

"Wouldn't he?" Bobby asked carefully. "Hey, I don't want to think it anymore than you do, but a man can only take so much, and Sam's been treading water for weeks. Maybe this is his way of dealing."

Dean shook his head jerkily. "He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't just leave me like this. No, something happened that Sam couldn't control."

Bobby sighed. "Maybe he couldn't. At least we know one thing, the Trickster, Gabriel, whoever he is, didn't do this."

"And that's good how?" Dean asked.

"It's good because we can find a normal, human way of getting through to him. If Sam did do this to himself, intended or not, he can stop it too. We just need to connect with him somehow. We need help."

* * *

><p>A few hours later, there was a knock at the door, and Bobby went to answer it. Relieved to be alone with his brother for a moment, Dean gripped Sam's arm and looked into his unseeing eyes. "We're going to fix this, Sam. We're going to get you out of there."<p>

Sam showed no sign that he'd heard Dean, but Dean felt better for having said it.

There were soft voices in the hall and then Bobby appeared, leading Pamela into the room. She smiled briefly at Dean and then turned her attention to Sam. He lips curved downward and she stepped lightly across the room to kneel in front of him where he was sitting on the couch. Thinking it was better to leave her to work, Dean got up and moved away.

"Okay, Sam," she said gently. "Let's see what we're working with here." She turned to Dean. "How long has he been like this?"

Dean checked the clock. "About a day."

"And has he moved at all or shown signs of agitation?"

Dean shook his head. "No, he let us move him into the house and he sat down okay, but he hasn't moved on his own."

Nodding thoughtfully, she reached into her purse and pulled out a penlight. Dean watched as she swiped the point of the light over Sam's line of vision. His pupil reacted to the light, but he didn't follow its path. He just stared through. Pamela scratched her head vigorously and studied Sam as if expecting him to copy, but he didn't. Sighing to herself, she gripped his hands and run the pad of her thumb over his palm. His fingers curled in and she looked pleased.

She positioned his arm so it was palm up in the air and laid her hand over it. "Sam, I want you to push my arm up."

Dean watched, chewing his lip as Sam raised her arm slightly. He didn't know whether to be pleased that he was reacting to her instructions or not. It was good that there was some part of him that was listening and able to respond, but at the same time it was eerie to see him doing it without the slightest change in his expression. It was as if he was a puppet with someone else pulling the strings.

"So, what do you think, Pamela?" Bobby asked.

She patted Sam's knee and got to her feet and walked into the kitchen. Dean and Bobby followed her and Bobby pulled the door closed behind them.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "Well?"

Pamela looked downcast. "Okay, medically speaking, Sam's not in any danger. He's entered a state of catatonia that is natural and treatable with the right drugs."

Dean felt a wave of relief. There was a way to bring him back, with drugs that Sam would hate, but there was a way.

"And non-medically speaking?" Bobby asked. "Where is he psychically?"

Dean waited anxiously for her answer.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I'm not as powerful as some. I can't read Sam's mind or connect with him where he is. All I know it that his spirit, his Ka, is still there within him. He has just chosen to separate it for the time being."

"And how do we…" Dean gestured wildly. "I don't know, make him snap back into himself?"

"That's where my knowledge runs out," Pamela said. "I can bring Sam out of this with drugs, but I can't make any guarantees about what will happen to him if I do. It seems to me that what has happened to Sam, what _is _happening to him, is important. I believe this has happened for a reason, and to interrupt that process with drugs, to intervene, could be dangerous."

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "Dangerous how?"

Pamela smiled sadly. "You have to remember what Sam's been through recently, what he's been living with. He is fragile; his mind can only take so much. That's why I believe this has happened. Whatever it was that he was faced with was too much for him to handle, so to protect himself, he shut down. To drag him out of that before he is ready could break him further."

"And if we leave him like this?" Bobby asked. "What then?"

"Then… He may come out of it on his own."

"Or he could stay locked inside himself forever?"

Dean guessed he knew the answer before he even asked the question, and he was not relieved by Pamela's simple yes. Sam could stay like this forever, leaving Dean in the world alone… again. He slid open the doors separating him from his brother and looked at Sam. He was staring at the opposite wall still, breathing slowly and blinking but giving no other sign that he was alive. The thought of Sam staying like that indefinitely was painful, but was it worse than the alternative? If they brought Sam back too soon, would they hurt him more than he already was?

"What do you want to do, Dean?" Pamela asked.

When he didn't answer, Bobby gripped his shoulder and turned him away from Sam. "Dean, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know." Dean's hands fisted at his sides. "If I just knew what was happening in his head, I'd be able to work something out."

He didn't want to lose his brother, not even to himself, but he wanted to hurt him even less. If he could get some insight into Sam's head, know what he was thinking and feeling wherever he was, he'd know what to do. If Sam was happy with what was happening, wherever he was, he would be able let him stay there. He would be able to do that as it would be what was best for Sam. He'd been given that choice once before, after Sam had been killed by Jake, and he'd chosen wrong. He'd dragged Sam out of Heaven and back to the world because it wasn't in him to live without his brother. This time he would make the right choice.

"You need to know what's going on in Sam's head?" Pamela said slowly. "Then we need Missouri."

Dean wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself. As soon as Bobby had mentioned getting Pamela, he'd clung to the idea that she would be able to fix Sam—she was a shrink after all. He hadn't thought of Missouri, but now it made sense. She was _the _psychic, to use Bobby's words. If she could connect with Sam, tell them what was happening to him, they'd be able to make an informed choice.

"Okay," he said. "Let's call her up, see if she's good for another Winchester drama."

* * *

><p>Sam was lying on the ground, staring up at the clouds. His hair was drifting in the light breeze, tickling his face, and he raised a lazy hand to brush it away. Everything was lazily done here. There was no pressure to do anything in a hurry; it was all ready and waiting for Sam to get to it in his own time. It made a pleasant change. Since he could remember, there had always been a pressing need to do something. First it was the instructions from his father, do this, hunt that. Then there had been college, and the endless rounds of studying and exams to make him feel like he had earned his place and his sacrifice—his family—had been worth it. Then there had been avenging Jessica's death. When that had been over he'd been working with a ticking clock, counting down to Dean's deal becoming due. He had failed then, and it had taken his own demon deal to save him. Then there had been Hell, and the pressure there had all been to resist and keep resisting, to fight against the offer to switch and the need to retain his humanity. When he'd been brought back by Castiel, there had been the Lucifer fight, and the pressure to say and to keep saying no. It had been an eternal onslaught of need until now. Now he was free to rest.<p>

Part of him, the selfless part, realized he couldn't stay here forever, he'd left Dean out in the real world, and he had to get back to him, but that part was largely overwhelmed by the infinite relief that was the peace. He was going to be selfish for a while. Just a while, he told himself, just long enough to gather his strength for the fight again. Dean couldn't object to that. Besides, here there was no threat of Lucifer and his destiny to battle. He couldn't say yes to anyone here. Sometimes there were voices, Dean and Bobby and others he'd didn't immediately recognize, but none of their words made sense, it was if they were talking a different language, and they were easy to ignore.

The selfish side of himself told him it would be better to stay here forever. Sure, it would mean leaving Dean behind, but if he wasn't mentally there, he wasn't at risk of Lucifer. Dean would have to agree that was better for the world.

He wondered what was happening to him in the real world. Was he unconscious there? Was time even passing. He felt like he'd been in this perfect, peaceful place forever, but he knew from his time in Hell that time moved differently some places. For all he knew, Dean could still be talking to the Trickster in that warehouse.

That was what had done it, the Trickster. He'd forced Sam to face the truth of what was happening, making him remember what he'd suffered through before and what he was bound to do, and it had been too much. Sam remembered the chilling fear he had felt as he imagined the future in which he would say yes to the Devil, the future in which he would kill his brother, and he'd shut down. It had been like drawing a curtain over reality. He'd found himself in this warm, quiet meadow, and there he'd lain down and rested.

* * *

><p><strong>So… Sam's at peace and Dean suffering. The poor boys are never in sync—never in my stories anyway. <strong>

**NEW STORY! I have posted the first chapter of my Sam/Castiel fic. **

**Summary: **Castiel sacrifices more than his freedom when he goes to save Sam from the cage, but he gains so much more in return. Now linked with Sam in a way no angel and human have been before, they struggle to pick up the threads of their old lives. S6 AU. Sastiel friendship/pre-slash

**Please give it a look and leave me some love. **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

Dean chewed his lip nervously as he awaited the verdict.

Missouri moved her hands from where they were cupping Sam's slack cheeks and she straightened. "He's in there, all right," she said.

That much they already knew, Dean thought. He needed new information. He needed to know if Sam was happy, or if he was suffering wherever he was. He needed to know if he would want to come back. He knew Missouri though, he'd stayed with her for a month, and he knew her way of operating. She would tell him what she knew and what she'd learned from Sam, but it would happen in her own time and only when she had finished mulling it over.

"I can hear him clear as day," she said. "His usual blocks and protections aren't in place. He's open to me for a change." She reached down and smoothed Sam's hair away from his face, smiling to herself as if knowing something the rest of them didn't.

"Where is he exactly?" Bobby asked. "I get that he's in his own head but…" He paused. "Is he happy."

Though it was Bobby that had asked, it was Dean that Missouri turned to as she answered. "He's peaceful."

Dean closed his eyes, absorbing the knowledge. Part of him had suspected that, and while he didn't want his brother suffering, he didn't want to hear it. He wanted to have a reason to pull Sam back to the world they lived in, some cause to have his brother with him in the real sense. But he couldn't. Not if Sam was at peace. It wasn't the life he might want, living as a shell while his mind was far away, but it was the best he was going to get. In the real world, Sam was suffering through the after-effects of his time in Hell. He was seeing crap that wasn't real. Lilith was taunting him still. He was Satan's meat suit and was living in a world where the end was very much nigh. Here, he could never be at peace. There, wherever it was, he was free.

Pamela crossed the room and perched on the edge of the desk, watching Sam carefully. "And what do you think about trying to bring him out?" she asked. "I sensed that he was… processing. Will we hurt him if we try to wake him?"

Missouri's mouth pressed into a thin line as she considered her answer. "I think hurt is the wrong word. He's not ready to come back yet though; I can tell you that because he's choosing not to." She looked apologetically at Dean. "He knows what he's left behind."

Dean rocked back on his heels. Sam knew he had left his brother behind, and he was choosing to stay away. Sam had left him before, for years when he'd gone to Stanford, but that had been different. Dean hadn't been alone then; he'd still had his father with him. Now Dean was alone. He had Bobby and Missouri and Pamela, but without Sam…

And Sam knew that. Dean knew it wasn't a lack of care for his brother that was keeping him inside himself. He'd gone to Hell for Dean; he cared plenty. It proved that the real world had to be a nightmare for Sam if he was choosing not to come back now.

As painful as that knowledge was, it made things easier for Dean. He couldn't drag Sam back if he was choosing to stay away.

"Okay," he said, and he was pleased that his voice came out steady. "We let him stay then."

Bobby sucked in a breath between his teeth. "You can't mean that. Look at him, Dean, he's a vegetable!"

"I know that and I'm still saying we leave him. Sammy's made his choice. He's not ready to come back yet, so we let him be."

"And if he never comes out of it?"

Dean bowed his head. "Then it means he's never going to be ready. You heard them, Bobby, he's at peace. Can you remember the last time Sam had something that even resembled peace? 'Cause I can't."

"And what's Sam going to do when we're out hunting?" Bobby asked bitterly. "You going to drag him around the country, leaving him in motels while you go after Lucifer?"

Dean hadn't thought that far ahead. He just knew it was what he had to do. If the apocalypse wasn't hanging over them, he would have dropped the hunt to take care of his brother, but he couldn't do that while Lucifer was still kicking.

"He can stay with me," Missouri said, looking at Dean. "You know I will take care of him, and Pamela can teach me everything I need to know."

Dean was grateful for the offer, if he couldn't have Sam with him, Missouri's was the next best thing, but it was a big offer. Sam was going to need a lot of care.

"I know what I'm offering," she said, knowing in her way why Dean was hesitating. "And I am happy to do it."

"If you're sure…"

"I am."

Bobby cursed and turned his back on them, making for the kitchen. A moment later Dean heard the door slam and he knew Bobby had made his exit.

Pamela rubbed her hands together. "We need to get things ready then. I should be able use my credentials to get the equipment we'll need, and what I can't get I'm sure Dean can steal."

Dean nodded. Whatever Sam needed, he would provide. It was his job.

"We'll get my place set up," Missouri said, "and then you can have your angel friends bring Sam by. I think that's better for him that having him make the journey in the car."

He understood the logic of what she said, and he agreed it would be better to make this journey as easy as possible for Sam, but he would have preferred to drive Sam over. It would have given him a little longer alone with his brother to prepare himself to say goodbye. Though it was not forever, Dean knew anytime that wasn't devoted to Lucifer would be spent with Sam, it still felt like a goodbye.

He looked at Sam, sitting motionless on the couch, and knew he was doing the right thing. That was what mattered.

* * *

><p>Bobby didn't come back, and after Pamela and Missouri left to set up Missouri's place for Sam, Dean and Sam were left alone.<p>

Dean sat beside Sam on the couch and leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to talk to Sam and if he wasn't looking at him he could pretend Sam was aware and listening rather than oblivious.

"You know, Sammy, I get it," he said. "I understand why you're checked out. Hell, if I had the sort of crap rocking around my brain that you do, I would never come back." That thought sent a chill through him and he sucked in a breath before he was able to continue. "But I'm asking you to keep something in mind, okay? When you're ready, when you can take it, come back. 'Cause I don't want to have to do this alone. You and me, we're a team. I need you back, man. I'm not saying right now, just when you're ready. You think you can do that?"

He looked askance at Sam and sighed. There was no reaction there. Sam either wasn't hearing or wasn't able to respond. Whichever it was, it sucked. Dean needed something, some sign that Sam was hearing him.

He patted Sam's shoulder and got to his feet. There were things he needed to do, like get Sam's duffel out of the car and make sure he had everything he needed and sort out some cash for Missouri. Sam wouldn't be eating her out of house and home, but he would have other needs.

He was walking through to the kitchen, thinking only of his brother and what he would need, when the door flew open and slammed into the wall. A man entered the room and Dean's heart thumped against his ribs. It was Alastair.

"Dean," he said happily. "I was hoping I'd find you here."

Dean flew to stand in front of his brother and spread his arm wide as if that could protect him.

Alastair laughed mirthlessly. "You think you can protect him from me? That's really quite funny, you know? As if I would hurt _him_."

"Yeah, 'cause you've never done that before," Dean spat.

Alastair's eyes took on a faraway look of pleasure. "Yes, but things have changed. Then, I was working towards a goal; we needed Sam dark, we needed him broken for Lucifer."

Dean forced a smile. "And you failed. Sammy isn't dark and he's sure as hell not broken!"

Alastair raised an eyebrow and peered around Dean to look at Sam. "You think? He looks broken to me." He stepped closer.

Dean spoke through gritted teeth. "Stay the Hell away from him!"

With a lazy wave of one arm, Dean was forced away from Sam and pinned against the wall with his arms flung out.

Alastair grinned. "I told you I wasn't here for him. I came for you." Dean struggled against the invisible force holding him but it was useless. He was held fast. "Now, Dean, the last time we met, you did some things to me that weren't kind. I am here to return the favor."

Dean's stomach rolled with panic. Alastair would kill him, that much he was sure of, but before that, he would hurt him in a way normal, sane people couldn't imagine. And then, when Dean was gone, there would be no one to protect Sam from Lucifer. He wouldn't stay dead, he had Zachariah's word of that, but untold time could pass before he was brought back. Anything could happen to Sam while he was gone.

"Let's get to work."

Alastair ripped Dean's shirt open, baring his chest and stomach to the room's warm air. Out of his suit pocket, he pulled a straight razor. Dean's heart was pounding so hard he was surprised Alastair couldn't hear it.

Alastair rested the blade on Dean's stomach, pressing down lightly, just breaking the skin to the flesh underneath. Blood welled and ran down Dean's stomach to soak into his jeans. It hurt, but it was far from unbearable. Dean had high pain threshold—Hell did that to a man—and he was able to take it.

"Strong and silent, is it?" Alastair asked. "That's okay. I remember this dance well. You will be squealing for mercy soon."

Dean refused to react. He merely stared past Alastair, looking at Sam. Alastair was wrong. He wouldn't beg or plead this time, he had something to hang onto—the man staring blankly out at the room. Sam was checked out but that didn't mean he couldn't hear them. The last thing he needed was to hear Dean's pain.

The burning in his stomach moved, trailing a line up his chest to his throat. Dean couldn't look down, he didn't want to see his own skin slashed open.

Alastair stepped back as if to admire his handiwork and nodded. "That's good. It's not enough by any stretch of the imagination, but it's a start." He stepped forward and placed the razor startlingly close to Dean's eye. Dean could see the individual drops of blood pooling on the blade and dripping to the floor. "You don't seem completely engaged in what we're doing, Dean. This is only fun if we both give it our best efforts."

Dean chanced a glance at Alastair and saw his barely concealed anger. This wasn't going the way he wanted at all. He needed Dean to be begging for mercy; that was half the fun for him.

"Bite me," Dean spat.

Alastair shook his head slowly. "Now, Dean, you really shouldn't have said that. You're just motivating me to hurt you even more."

Dean couldn't shrug, pinned as he was, so he settled for a cocky smile.

Alastair walked into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a can of salt. He leered at Dean and unscrewed the cap. "I seem to remember you utilizing salt when we last met," he said. "It was not pleasant. I wonder what you will think of it."

He gripped Dean's jaw and tilted his head back. Dean tried to clamp his mouth shut, but it was like trying to fight the force of the ocean. Alastair upended the can and the contents spilled into Dean's mouth. It slid down his throat, making him choke. Alastair stepped back and Dean spat the salt onto the floor.

Alastair sneered at him. "Want some holy water to clean your palate?"

"I'm good," Dean panted. His mouth was still filled with the bitter taste but he could breathe again, and that was what mattered.

Alastair shook his head. "You _are_ good. I admit I was expecting more from you. I remembered you as a puling coward on the rack, constantly begging for your Sammy to save you, but I see now how wrong I was. That was the other Winchester brother. Sam was a whiner. He couldn't take much before begging for you." He laughed mirthlessly. "He really thought you could save him."

Dean clenched his jaw, biting back the insults he wanted to throw at Alastair. He had a high threshold for physical pain, but it seemed he was as susceptible to emotional pain as anyone. The thought of his brother crying out for him when he could neither hear nor help him was like a burning poker over his heart.

"I see I've touched a nerve," Alastair said with unconcealed glee. "You should have seen him, Dean. He would lay there, bloodied and beaten, and all that he could think of was you. Do you think he wondered why you left him there so long?"

"I couldn't save him!"

"Couldn't you? You were the angels' man for all those months. You were their chosen one. Do you really think you were without collateral? You should have told them to stuff their seals. You should have refused to help until they saved your brother."

Dean shook his head. He couldn't have saved Sam. He'd tried. He'd tried demon deals and pleading with Castiel, and nothing had helped.

Alastair set down the can of salt and came forward with his razor held up. Once again, Dean locked his gaze on Sam and waited for the pain to come. When it came, it was worse. Alastair was working with abandon now, carving into him, and he felt the blood soaking though his jeans. Soon, he was going to tip the balance of blood loss and he would lose consciousness. Far from wanting the blessed relief, Dean was scared of it. If he wasn't distracting Alastair by being aware for his torture, he would turn to Sam for entertainment.

"This is nice," Alastair said, stepping back to admire his work.

Dean found himself looking down, too, and his stomach rolled at what he saw. His stomach and chest were slick with blood. Vivid red cuts crisscrossed his skin. When this was over, he was going to be a mess of scars.

"You like it?" Alastair asked. "I think it's some of my best work."

Dean shook his head. "Bit sloppy if you ask me. You never were much of an artist."

Alastair's eyes darkened with anger and he pressed the tip of the blade against Dean's right shoulder. Dean thought he knew what was going to happen a moment before it did, and he tried to brace himself for the pain. There was no preparation possible though, not for the agony as Alastair plunged the blade into him, parting flesh and muscle and scraping against bone. He gritted his teeth and bit back the howl of pain that wanted to escape him.

The force pinning him in place disappeared and Dean dropped like a stone. His injured arm was trapped underneath him, and he realized, with a chill of fear, that he couldn't feel it properly. It was as if the whole arm had been dosed with anesthetic. That scared him more than anything else.

Alastair drew back a foot and kicked him hard in the chest. He felt ribs crack under the force of the blow and his breath rushed out of him.

"Had enough yet?" Alastair asked. "I'll stop anytime. All you have to do is say please."

"Screw you."

Another kick, another rib. "Say please, Dean."

Dean tried to roll away from Alastair, but his numbed arm made it impossible. He got onto his back and then floundered uselessly.

He saw the glint in his eye and he knew what was going to happen a moment before it did. Alastair smiled grimly and lifted a booted foot from the ground. Positioning it above Dean's injured shoulder, he slowly lowered it, pressing down on the wound with irresistible force.

Dean cried out, unable to stop himself, the pain was so intense, and in the cry a word formed. "Sam!"

Alastair laughed. "I knew we'd get there eventually. All you needed was the right motiv—" His words cut off as Sam launched himself at him and he was knocked sideways.

Dean watched as Alastair shoved Sam away, knocking Sam into a wall, and got smoothly to his feet.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to join the party." Alastair grabbed Sam's shirt and dragged him up to face him. "Hello again, Sam."

"Leave him alone, Alastair," Dean said through gritted teeth.

Sam's eyes widened. "Alastair!"

"The one and only." He smiled. "I've missed you, Sam. It's not often I get such a receptive subject."

Sam surged forward, thrusting himself at Alastair, but the demon merely flung out an arm and sent him skidding back across the floor. Sam's head connected hard with the wall with a sickening crack. He struggled as if held down by invisible bonds.

"Now, Sam," Alastair said. "I am under orders not to hurt you, but if you force my hand, I will forget orders and have a little fun with your brother."

"Leave him alone!" Sam's voice was a feral snarl that unnerved Dean. He'd never heard Sam sound like that before.

"How about we all calm down and talk this over," an amused voice said.

Standing on the threshold to the kitchen was the Trickster. His arms were crossed and he looked supremely unconcerned. As Dean watched, Alastair started forward, his clawed hands out in front of him.

The Trickster, Gabriel, whoever it was, unfolded his arms and a long, silver blade dropped into his hand.

"Angel!" For the first time Alastair looked unnerved.

"Archangel, actually." He stepped forward, holding his blade out in front of him.

"And you're here to what exactly? Kill me?" Alastair asked.

"I'm afraid so."

Alastair laughed and started forward. It happened so fast, Dean's blurred vision couldn't take it in. One moment Alastair was rushing forward, his face alight with fury, and the next he was staggering back with the silver blade slicing clean through his throat and poking out at the back. Glowing yellow light crackled around the wound.

Dean's head flopped back on the floor, adrenaline fading out of him with his relief. His vision blurred and the pains of his various wounds made themselves known. A pale moon swam in his vision and he blinked. Sam's face came into focus, and Dean saw that he looked terrified.

"Dean?"

"M'fine, Sammy," he slurred. "You okay?"

Sam shook his head, his eyes roving over Dean's bloodied and battered body. "Damn, Dean, you're really hurt."

"It's okay," a voice said. "I can fix him."

Gabriel's face came into view and he was without its usual smug smile. He rested a hand over Dean's shoulder and bright, white light spilled from his palm. Dean felt a moment's pain as muscle, flesh and skin knitted together again, and then it was over. Gabriel stepped back, and then Dean was being eased to his feet by Sam.

"You okay?" Sam asked, chewing his lip with worry.

"I'm fine," Dean said honestly. He probably didn't look it, his jeans were damp with his blood, but he felt it. He felt almost energized. His eyes found Alastair lying supine on the floor, and he smiled. "He's dead, right?"

Gabriel crossed the room and pulled the blade from Alastair's neck with a sick, squelching sound. "Yep, he's a dead'un all right." His expression became solemn. "And now we're even."

"Even?" Sam asked.

Gabriel sighed. "Your little breakdown, Sam. I admit what I did may have contributed to it, and I felt a little… bad… okay? I figured I owed you a favor, so I killed him." He toed Alastair's corpse. "Now we're even. I don't owe you, and you don't owe me."

Dean nodded slowly. "I guess we owe you thanks though.

Gabriel grinned. "You have to say the words to make it work."

"Thank you," Sam said sincerely.

"Okay then," Gabriel clapped his hands together. "I better be going."

"Hang on a sec," Dean said. "We're even you say, and that's awesome, but I have a couple questions."

Gabriel sighed theatrically. "Let me guess, you want to know how I went from archangel to Trickster."

Dean nodded. "Pretty much, yeah."

"It's my own private witness protection. I skipped out of heaven, had a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world. Till you screwed it all up.

"What happened?" Sam asked. "Why'd you ditch?"

Dean snorted. "Do you blame him? I mean, his brothers are heavyweight douchenozzles."

"Shut your cakehole," Gabriel spat. "You don't know anything about my family. I love my father, my brothers. Love them. But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other's throats? I couldn't bear it! Okay? So I left."

Dean felt a little sympathy for him. He had spent a good portion of his life torn between two people he loved—Sam and his father—always trying to appease the other. It had stopped when Sam had gone to Stanford, but that had been worse, as Dean had been without his brother. He wondered how it would have felt it the rift between Sam and John had been worse, if they had been baying for blood the way Lucifer and Michael were. He didn't think he could have stood it.

"I know what you want from me," Gabriel said. "But I can't do it. It's all very well killing Alastair and saving you two, that benefits both of my brothers, but I can't pick a side. I don't want to. I can't help you kill my brothers." He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, boys, but you're on your own."

* * *

><p>Sam sat on the back porch, nursing a mug of coffee in his hands. His head ached from the impact with the wall, but he felt he deserved the pain. He'd abandoned his brother to face the world alone and no pain seemed a suitable punishment for that betrayal. He should have had Dean's back, the way he was supposed to, but he'd lost himself instead. It was more than that though, being lost made it sound like he'd had no choice when he had. He'd known Dean was out there, waiting for him, but he'd not been ready to come back.<p>

It had been Dean's voice that had done it. Unlike the dull murmuring he'd heard until that point, Dean calling his name had cut through the illusion of peace like a klaxon. He'd dragged himself out of his mind, terrified that he was too late, to find his brother broken and bleeding on the floor. The fear of that moment still sent a shiver of fear down his spine. He had almost been too late. And then, when he'd pulled himself free of his own mind, he'd still been useless. He hadn't been able to help Dean as the damage had all been done. It had taken an archangel to repair what Sam could not.

Alastair was dead. Somewhere out of sight was the disturbed earth that covered his meat suit's grave. It was a huge relief to know he was gone. Lilith and Alastair, the two that had hurt him more than any other, were no more. He didn't believe that was the end of it all for him. He would see them within his broken mind again, but they wouldn't be able to hurt Dean again.

The door behind him opened and he heard the heavy tread of footsteps on the wooden planks. He turned as Dean settled on the step beside him, a bottle of beer in hi

* * *

><p>s hand.<p>

Bracing himself for what he knew he had to say, Sam took a deep breath. "Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean frowned. "Sorry? What for?"

"For leaving you. I should never have let that happen. If I'd been here, I could have…"

"Stopped him?" Dean laughed mirthlessly. "Sammy, no one could have stopped him. Alastair is, was, a powerful demon that was even immune to the knife. If I'd been thinking clearly, I would have had the colt ready nearby in case someone came by, but I didn't. That's on me. I should have been prepared." He raked a hand through his hair. "If anyone's got reason to be sorry, it's me. I didn't mean to drag you back. I tried damn hard not to."

"I needed to come back. I was weak and scared, it was easier for me to hide inside myself than it was to face the world, but I forgot what mattered. We have each other's back—it's how we work. I let myself forget that for a while."

"That's totally understandable, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "It was weak and selfish, and I shouldn't have let myself do it."

Dean sighed. "And I was stupid not to be ready. How about we call it even?"

"Sounds good to me."

Dean leaned back against the railing and took a deep swig of his beer. "So, Alastair's dead. That's one hell of a check on the to-do list. Kinda feel like we should celebrate."

Sam smiled slightly. "Yeah, we can do that."

Dean started suggesting and disregarding possibly ideas for them to celebrate. Sam sat listening to him, just letting his voice wash over him, present and safe and real. The place he'd been was serene and free, and the real world was painful and raw, but there was a certain peace that could only be found with his brother by his side.

**Da-da-duhhh… Alastair is dead. Huzzah. And Gabriel came to the rescue. Writing his character has been one of the most fun parts of this story. I love him and had so much fun trying to get into his head and working out how he'd react in certain situations. I hope I did him justice. **

**Next week's update will be early or late depending on when I get time to prepare it as I am going to a SPN con, where I will be meeting… *drumroll* Jared Frickin Padalecki! I am beyond excited about it so prepare for a squee'ing authors note next time. **

**Until then…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	15. Chapter 15

**Thanks everyone for the reviews, faves and adds for the last chapter. I really appreciate your support.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Fifteen<strong>_

Dean felt like he had a hundred problems that needed to be solved on any given day, but there was one constant that he worried about more than any other: Sam. His brother was the sum of most of those problems, and the cause of the question he asked himself on a daily basis: was today the day? Was that random day going to be the one Sam chose to finally quit and leave Dean behind?

After their encounter with Alastair, they stayed at Bobby's for a few weeks, just processing what had happened—at least that was what Dean told Sam. It wasn't a lie exactly, they both needed time to get to grips with what had happened, but it wasn't Dean's main reason for staying. That was far simpler. Dean was worried Sam was going to leave him again, and being near Bobby meant there were two people watching Sam, keeping an eye out for the signs that he was going again, in the physical sense or mental. That worked for all of a few days before Bobby had to leave to help Rufus with a hunt. Dean had been left alone then to watch his brother.

For his part, Sam didn't show any sign of being willing to leave. If anything he seemed better than he had been for years, but Dean knew it was all an act, and that was what made things worse. Before Alastair, Sam's struggle had been clear for anyone to see. He had lost himself to hallucinations and cried out in his sleep on a regular basis. All that had changed. It would have been a relief in any other instance, if Dean thought Sam was actually better, but he knew that PTSD didn't just disappear one day, which meant Sam was just better at hiding it now. He never would have believed he would long for the days in which his brother had been clearly suffering, but those days had been easier. He wanted to be there for Sam, to shoulder some of the burden, but Sam wouldn't let him.

He woke early and his eyes immediately drifted to the empty bed beside his own. It was neatly made but carrying the wrinkle Dean had plucked into the pillow, which meant Sam hadn't come to bed that night. He'd either crashed on the couch again or he hadn't slept at all. Until Dean saw Sam, had a chance to measure the dark shadows under his eyes, he wouldn't know which it had been. There was one positive in what was happening. Sam could hide the hallucinations and he could smile and laugh at the drop of a hat, but he couldn't hide physically, and that gave Dean some chance to gauge how he was really doing.

The scent of cooking bacon reached him as he opened the bedroom door and his stomach gurgled in anticipation. He made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sam was working at the counter, dressed his sweats still, meaning he had at least tried to sleep even if not in the bedroom.

He turned as Dean came in and there were deep shadows under his eyes. "Hungry?" he asked.

"Starved."

Dean crossed to the counter and poured himself a mug of coffee with the last dregs of the jug. He sipped at it and grimaced at the cool temperature. It must have been sitting for a while if it was cold now, which meant that Sam had been mainlining coffee for a few hours already.

"I'll make a fresh pot," Sam said, deftly flipping the bacon onto a plate. "You sit."

"I can do it," Dean said.

Sam turned. "I know, but you don't need to." He set the plate of bacon down on the table and began refilling the coffee machine. "Bobby, you eating?" he asked without turning.

"You're cooking so I'm eating," Bobby replied from the library.

Dean hadn't realized Bobby was back already. He was relieved. He would have someone he could talk to about Sam and what was happening; He could get a second opinion.

Dean peered through the doorway and saw Bobby slamming a book shut and getting to his feet. He locked eyes with Dean and his eyes tightened, unnoticed by Sam. Dean knew, from that look alone, that he and Bobby were going to be having a talk soon, and Dean better clear his calendar till it was over. Nodding covertly in reply, he sat down at the table and pulled over the plate of bacon.

The ate in silence and when Bobby pushed away his plate, massaging his stomach and murmuring thanks to Sam for the meal, Sam jumped to his feet and began collecting the dishes.

"Don't worry about that," Bobby said. "Your brother can take care of that."

"Okay," Sam said. "I'll go get changed."

He practically jogged out of the room, leaving Bobby and Dean alone at the table. Dean got to his feet and poured them each more coffee and then sat, cupping the mug in his hands.

"He seems like he doing better," Bobby observed.

"Seems being the word," Dean said darkly. "You and I both know he's not really."

"Do we?" Bobby asked. "It looks to me like he's better now than he's been since he got back."

Dean told Bobby everything he'd seen in his brother since they'd last all been together; the jumpiness when startled, the sleepless nights and shadows etched under his eyes, the lack of sign of hallucinations, which was worrying in itself, and then raised an eyebrow, challenging the older man silently.

"Awww, hell," Bobby groaned. "Okay, he's not better. I just…"

"You want him better," Dean said. "Me too, but I'm not believing this miraculous recovery. No, Sammy's still struggling; he's just a lot better at hiding it now."

Bobby leaned back in his seat and drummed his fingers on the table. "Maybe he's hiding it for a reason. He checked out on us, on you, and you were damn near killed. You said he apologized for that. Maybe this is his way of making it up to you. Giving one less thing for you to worry about."

"That's stupid. I'm more worried now I know he's hiding something. It's got to be putting more pressure on him than is already there, and that's the last thing he needs."

Bobby looked thoughtful. "Maybe not. This could be what he needs—normal. He's acting a lot like the old Sam, the pre-Hell Sam. Maybe he's faking it till he makes it. Pretending everything's okay might make it easier for him to handle the fact nothing's okay. Maybe what he needs is for you to believe it too."

"You want me to pretend?" Dean asked.

"Is that so hard to do?" Bobby countered. "Ever since Sam got back all you've wanted is for him to be okay. He's not, and it's not likely he's going to be till he can concentrate on getting well with the help he needs; he can't do that until the Lucifer problem is laid to rest, so in the meantime, pretend."

Dean considered. It seemed a simplistic answer to a complex problem, but maybe that was for the best. He wanted nothing more than for things to go back to the way they'd been before deals and Hell and everything that went along with it came along. Could this be the way to get what he wanted in some form?

"It's what Sam needs from you, Dean," Bobby said.

With that simple sentence, Dean was decided. He would give Sam what he needed, as he always did, he would pretend.

* * *

><p>Sam left the dishes for Dean to do and made his way to the bedroom he and Dean shared. He got halfway up the stairs before he felt heat licking at his face and heard the crackling of flames. Closing his eyes tight, he continued up onto first floor hall. He knew if he opened his eyes, he would see the walls succumbing to fire, so he felt his way along the hall until he reached the bedroom. Clicking the door closed gently behind him, he sank to the floor and buried his head against his knees.<p>

"Not real. Not real. Not real," he mumbled. Being able to react to what he was seeing when alone was a relief, as he couldn't react when his brother was there.

After a moment, the heat disappeared and he opened his eyes. The fire was gone

His guilt for what he did to Dean didn't evaporate overnight. He continued to feel the weight of it for the following weeks, just as he felt the weight of Hell. The difference was that while he did his best to ignore the latter, he did all he could to make it up to his brother.

The last thing Dean needed was to be forced to deal with a broken brother, so Sam did all he could to fight though it alone without showing his brother how he was struggling. When the hallucinations came, he hid the effects from Dean. When his heart would race and his head would pound, he would sit quietly, fighting the urge to put his head in his hands and groan. As time passed, it got easier and he got better at hiding it. It was always better when he didn't have to pretend though, when Dean was otherwise occupied, as it seemed to make it easier to deal with what he was seeing.

When he was sure the fire was going to stay gone for a while, he collected some clean clothes and showered. He made sure to scrub some color into his cheeks to lessen the effects of the shadows under his eyes. Checking his reflection as he shaved, he saw he was looking much better than he felt. Calling it a win, he hung up his wet towel and made his way back downstairs.

Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table with the phone pressed to his ear. Wanting to give him his privacy, Sam grabbed the laptop and made his way out onto the back porch. Dean was polishing the hood of the Impala, and as Sam came out, he nodded. Sam sat on the steps with the computer perched on his knees and waited as it connected to Bobby's Wi-Fi. When he had a page open, he clicked on his favorite news site and began to skim the articles.

He had been searching for half an hour, absorbed in the work, when Dean thumped down beside him on the step and nudged his shoulder. "What's got you looking so hard at the screen?" he asked. "You find porn?"

Sam shook his head slightly, still reading down the article.

"Sam? Earth to Sam." Dean waved a hand in front of his face.

"I think I've found us a case," Sam said.

"Awesome. I've been wanting to stretch my legs. What is it?"

"I'm not sure. It's all pretty vague, but there have been strange deaths in Wisconsin that I think will be worth checking out."

"Is your spider sense tingling, research boy?"

Sam laughed softly. "Something like that. You up for it?"

"You know me, Sammy. I'm always good for a hunt."

Sam grinned. Dean was apparently in a very good mood, which was all good as far as he was concerned. It was what he'd been hoping for since Alastair.

"I'll go pack up my stuff," Dean said, getting smoothly to his feet and disappeared into the house.

Sam read the article once more then flipped the laptop closed and followed him in. He expected Dean to be upstairs, getting his duffel, but he was standing opposite Bobby in the library with his arms crossed over his chest. It looked as though Sam had interrupted some kind of standoff.

"Everything okay?" he asked, cursing the quaver in his voice. He didn't want to seem fragile, but he was nervous. It was a rarity for Dean and Bobby to come up against each other, and he suspected whatever it was he'd interrupted was because of him.

"Everything's fine," Dean said easily. "Bobby was just telling me about his hunt."

Dean was lying, Sam could tell, but if he'd wanted Sam to know what they were talking about, he would have told him. He could hardly complain about Dean hiding things when he was hiding so much from him himself. He nodded and made for the stairs. "Okay, I'll grab up our stuff."

* * *

><p>They got to Wisconsin early evening. The ride had gone well. Dean had cranked up the stereo and sang along to his favorite cassettes and Sam had studied the map. It was all reassuring and normal and Dean had allowed himself to enjoy it. If Sam needed him to play at everything being okay, he would do it. According to Bobby, it was what Sam needed.<p>

Thoughts of Bobby made Dean's jaw clench. Before they'd left Sioux Falls, Bobby had tried to rope them into another hunt, a demon hunt. Dean had refused outright but Bobby had pushed and they'd almost come to blows. For all Bobby's supposed love for Sam, he was willing to drag him into a hunt that would land him in demon territory. Rufus had called with the case, a series of wacky deaths in Nebraska that had him stumped. Dean would have been happy to go along if not for the fact the area of Nebraska the deaths were centered over was crawling with demon signs. The very last thing Sam needed was to face more of them. As if their recent spell with Alastair wasn't enough, there was the fact Sam had a head full of demons on any given day regardless. Dean had refused and Bobby had accused him of smothering Sam. Dean wasn't smothering him, dammit, he was taking care of him and if Bobby couldn't see the difference, that was his problem not Dean's. Sam would be much better off with this vague innocuous hunt than he would be facing demons.

They'd both agreed it was too late in the day for them to go by the local PD when they arrived, so they'd found a diner to eat in and then headed back to their motel for the night. Now they were standing in the town's small PD office and waiting for the desk sergeant to notice them. When he turned a page on the file he was reading and still failed to look up, Dean cleared his throat loudly.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

Dean and Sam held up their badges in unison. "We need to see your Sheriff," Dean said a little brutally.

The man crossed his arms over his chest. "Too bad, _agents," _there was unmistakable hostility in his tone, "Sheriff Briggs is out of the office."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You know where we can find him?"

"Sure, The Eternal Rest Funeral Home. He'll be the one in the oak coffin."

Dean opened his mouth to say something biting, but Sam stepped on his toe and his jaw snapped shut. Fine, he'd let Sam handle this.

"We're sorry to hear about your loss," he said smoothly. "But it really is important that we speak to someone. Is there a deputy we can talk to?"

"It's okay, Will," a smooth voice said. "I'll talk to the agents."

Dean turned to the voice and his jaw dropped open. Standing in the doorway of a room marked_ Office_ was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She had long, wavy red hair and porcelain skin. He'd seen a lot of attractive women in his life, he'd made it a study in his late teens and early twenties, but none of them had the same effect on him as this woman. She was stunning. Dean glanced to the side and saw Sam looked equally as dumbstruck as he was feeling. That was odd, as even before Hell, Sam had high standards. It took something really special for him to look as dopey as he did now, and the deputy definitely qualified as special.

"We can talk in here, gentlemen," she said, and there was something about her voice that made Dean want her to keep talking.

Sam tugged on Dean's arm and they followed the—goddess—woman into the office.

"I'm Deputy Green," she said smoothly, "acting Sheriff. How can I help you?"

Sam cleared his throat roughly. "We, uh, we're here about the recent deaths."

She laughed lightly and Dean decided that right there was the best sound in the universe, better than the purr of the Impala's engine, better than Zeppelin. That laugh topped them all.

"It seems unusual for the FBI to send _two _agents," she said with emphasis, "for five deaths without a criminal involvement."

"It's a full service bureau these days," Dean said quickly. "And things are a little slow at the office."

She smiled at him and Dean felt his heart catch before beating on valiantly. "I guess they must be." She leaned back in her seat and her long hair flooded down her back. "I think you're wasting your time, but I know the bureau. Now you've been assigned I would be hard pushed to get rid of you. I'll tell you what I know and see what conclusions you draw from them. The cause of death for each of our lost souls is cardiorespiratory failure."

Sam leaned forward in his seat and cleared his throat softly. "I'm sorry—I'm not a doctor—but doesn't that just mean they stopped breathing and their heart stopped beating. Isn't that the universal cause of death?"

She frowned, a wrinkle creasing her perfect brow, and Dean wanted to kick Sam for putting it there. "I see you are not uninformed," she said dryly. "I will tell you what our coroner told me. These people died of natural causes."

Sam nodded. "Would you mind letting us see a copy of the files you have on the deceased and we need the address of your coroner."

Her frown deepened and her eyes tightened. She was clearly not happy, and neither was Dean. He was planning on making some bold attempt at getting a date with this woman and Sam, despite his dopey smile, was seriously cramping his style.

"I suppose it can't hurt for you to see the file," she said eventually. "But please bear in mind that our sheriff was one of the victims. It's a sensitive subject for us all. You will find the morgue on Pine Street, just the other side of town." She got to her feet and held out a hand to Dean, making the action a clear period on their meeting.

Dean stood and shook her hand, noting the warmth and softness of her skin. It was almost like touching silk. "Thanks for all your help," he said.

Her full, perfect lips curved slightly and she ducked her head. "It was a pleasure to meet you. I'm sure we'll see each other again."

Dean grinned at her. "I'm sure we will." He pulled out his wallet and handed her a card. "If you need anything, call me."

She took the card and nodded. "I definitely will."

* * *

><p>The coroner was a plump man with a busy white beard and easy smile. Sam's first thought on meeting him was that he would make a great Santa Claus for the holiday season. His second thought was that it seemed weird that a man whose job surrounded him with death seemed to be so cheery. He greeted them enthusiastically, introducing himself as Dr. Bert—call me Bert—Marshall and offering them coffee on arrival. Neither Dean nor Sam accepted the offer. They'd learned the hard way that combining what could be a gooey corpse with a coffee ended with a race to the bathroom.<p>

He led them into a sterile looking, white room with an abundance of stainless steel equipment and the unmistakable shape of a body under a sheet. The air conditioner hummed and Sam felt the chill in the air.

"I'm glad to see you boys. I've never met real X-Files agents before."

"We're not…" Sam started and then shook his head. "Never mind."

The man nodded happily. "Well, these latest finds are a puzzler and our small town police force, as able as they are, are out of their depths with them, especially since losing Sheriff Briggs. We need some expert advice."

"There have been five deaths," Sam said, checking the file they'd got from the deputy.

"Yeah, our fine sheriff was the first and then four other upstanding citizens have been stuck down."

"And the cause of death is…?" Sam already knew the 'official' cause of death from the deputy, but it was as vague as it could be, and he was hoping the coroner would have something more to say.

"That's where things get weird." Bert crossed the room and flicked a switch on the wall. A panel lit up and two x-rays were displayed.

Sam's brow furrowed and he stepped closer to get a better look. It was the strangest x-ray he'd ever seen. If it wasn't for the visible ribs, he wouldn't have known what he was looking at. It was an image of a person's torso with masses dotted across it.

"What would do that?" he asked.

"Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva," Bert said impressively. "Otherwise known as stone man syndrome."

"And this is what killed them all?" Dean asked doubtfully.

"Not directly," Bert said. "That was a basic cardiorespiratory failure. But according to my postmortem and the x-rays, they were all suffering with FOP that caused that failure. I can't explain it, but that's where all the evidence leads me."

"I'm sorry but what is stone man syndrome?" Sam asked,

"It's a rare condition that basically turns muscle and tendon to bone. It's a mutation of the body's natural healing processes. It's rare though, more than rare. I've never seen a case and I don't know anyone else that has."

Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I've heard of this. I thought it took years for it to kill someone."

For a moment, Sam wondered how and where Dean had heard of this. He knew his brother wasn't stupid, far from it, but it was such a bizarre illness that it was doubtful Dean would have come across it in their line of work. Dean saw his obvious confusion and he grinned. Sam rolled his eyes and listened to the doctor's answer.

"It does take years usually, and that's where the strangest part of this comes in. I knew these people. This is a small town and when I'm not here dissecting the dead, I am the local family physician. None of these people, not one, showed signs of FOP before their death."

The evidence smacked of the supernatural, but what it could be, Sam didn't know. He'd never heard of a fugly capable of turning someone to stone—outside of the obvious. He raked a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to rub at his tired eyes, and listened as Dean finagled a copy of the post mortem report out of the doctor.

"Make sure to let me know what you come up with," Bert said, leading them to the door again and holding out his hand. "I don't mind admitting I am damn curious about what can be doing this."

Sam took his hand and then froze as the man's face transformed from rotund geniality to the rotting corpse face of a demon. His lapse lasted a fraction of a second, a blink of time, but he felt Dean's eyes on him and knew it had been noticed. He forced himself to smile into the rotting face and shake the hand it belonged to without cringing away.

"Thank for your help, Doc," Dean said easily. "We appreciate it."

Sam waited for Dean to say something about his lapse as they made their way out to the car, sure Dean would comment and cursing himself for not hiding it better, but it didn't come. Instead, Dean grinned over the roof of the car and said, "Real X-Files agents, huh?"

Sam smiled. "You can't blame him for thinking it. This case is weird as they come. Speaking of weird, how did you know about this condition?"

Dean waggled his eyebrows. "Doctor Sexy, Sammy. It's educational entertainment."

Sam laughed. "Sure. I don't remember you enjoying it that much when it was educationally getting you shot in the back."

"That was different," Dean said, his expression darkening. "We were both knee deep in crap then."

And there it was. Sam had ruined a perfectly _normal_ morning with his crap. Cursing internally, he got into the car and waited for Dean.

* * *

><p>Sam was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with the laptop open in front of him and their father's journal open beside him. He'd been quiet since they left the morgue, and Dean wondered if he was going to mention his little lapse in the morgue, but he didn't; true to his new dedication to faking it till they made it, Dean didn't either. Sam reached for the journal and flipped a page, studying it with a furrowed brow.<p>

"You finding anything?" he asked.

Sam looked up and started as if noticing Dean for the first time. "Maybe. It's kinda out there thought."

"Let me guess, it's Medusa."

"Yeah, actually it is."

Dean huffed a laugh. "I was joking Sam."

"Yeah, I was too until I read up a little on it. Dad had a theory that the Greek myths and monsters were rooted in fact. Like the myths that have been passed on for generations are a warning instead of a story."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Dad thought Medusa was real?"

"He didn't mention her by name, but there are harpies and lamias and sirens. He went up against all of them at one time or another and they had roots in mythology. Why shouldn't Medusa be real too?"

"Because if there was a fugly with the head of snakes, I think some hunter would have come up against it before now, Sammy.

"Maybe they have," Sam said reasonably. "We should call Bobby and see if he's heard of it."

"I'll call him," Dean said quickly. He didn't want Sam calling up Bobby and finding that he was on his own hunt. He'd ask why they weren't out there with Bobby, and Dean didn't want to have to explain that to his brother—not while they were playing so hard at normal.

Sam frowned slightly, as if wondering over Dean's offer, but he didn't say anything, so Dean thought he'd got away with it. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed.

After a couple rings, Bobby's gruff voice could be heard and he didn't sound happy. "Dean."

"Yeah, hang on." Dean made a performance of shaking his phone and checking the screen. "Damn signal. I'll try outside." He felt Sam's eyes on him as he made his way out of the room and onto the parking lot, but he didn't turn. He made his way over to the vending machine, just out of sight of their room's window, and lifted the phone to his ear again. "I'm here."

"Signal, huh? Was that for my benefit or Sam's?"

"Sam's," Dean said unapologetically. "How's it going?"

"Well, we've tracked down the source of the deaths, and it's a kid. There's no demons we can see, so we're not sure what we're going up against at the moment. We're getting an explanation from Anna and Cas, which I was listening to when you called. So, what do you need?"

Dean felt a little guilty that he'd left Bobby and Rufus to go after this hunt alone, but it was better that they be alone than bring Sam into it. Besides, they had the God-Squad on their side now. If it was something bad, Cas and Anna could take care of it. Pushing away his discomfort, he asked, "Have you ever heard of Medusa. I don't mean the myth; I mean an actual creature that could be killing now."

There was a soft chuckle on the line. "I sometimes wonder if your daddy was just trying to make life more interesting when it came to educating you boys on the hunt."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind," Bobby said. "I've not come up against an honest to God Grecian before, but they exist. They're nasty sons of bitches to deal, on par with pagan gods."

"How do we take it out?"

"Steady now, boy. You have to find it first. As for how to kill it… Well, I hate to spoil the ending for ya, but if my memory serves, Perseus chopped her head off. You might want to start with that."

"Decapitation, got it," Dean said, his mind already wandering to the trunk of the Impala and the weapons nestled within. "Thanks, Bobby. I appreciate it."

"Hold on!" Bobby said quickly. "The lesson ain't over yet. Once you find her, before you go swiping at her, you need to find a way of doing it without looking into her eyes. That's how the mojo works. She turns you to stone with her gaze."

"Any tips on how we find her?" Dean asked.

Bobby huffed. "Do I look like a rolodex?"

"Nah, I guess not," Dean said, abashed.

"You're going to have to chuck your buns and do some old fashioned research on this one, Dean. And by you, I don't mean just Sam. I know I said to give him normal, but you can split the legwork on this one. Now, I've got to go. I have a pissy angel glaring at me. Dean, be careful and watch out for each other. This isn't some run of the mill fugly, it's one of _the _fuglys."

"Got it," Dean said casually. He didn't need Bobby's instruction for them to watch out for each other. That was what they always did. They were brothers after all. "I'll see you, Bobby."

He ended the call and leaned his head back against the stucco wall of the motel for a moment, just taking a breath, then made his way back into their room.

Sam was still sitting on the bed, but now the laptop was pushed to the side and he was massaging his temples.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Sam started and nodded quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine. How did you get on with Bobby?"

"He said Medusa is a real fugly."

Sam's eyebrows lifted. "Wow. I mean I kinda thought it was but having it confirmed is something else. We're going up against a genuine Greek myth."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, and we've got to chop her head off to kill her." He shrugged nonchalantly. "That's after we find her anyway."

Sam sighed. "Any ideas on how we do that?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. He said we'd need to research." He grabbed the journal from Sam's lap and threw himself down on the other bed.

"Dad didn't have anything to say about tracking them down in there, Dean."

"Well, brainiac, there's only one computer, and I figured I'd let you drive. I'll double check this and you can see what you can dig up on the web."

Sam groaned and pulled the laptop over to him again. The question of whether or not he was okay was on the tip of Dean's tongue, but he bit back the question. They were playing at normal after all.

They'd been working for an hour in silence, an hour of Sam clicking away on the laptop and Dean yawning as he sorted through his father's indecipherable notes, when Sam slammed the laptop shut and Dean looked up.

"Okay, all I've got so far is that the hair of snakes is an obvious lie. She's supposed to be a ravishingly beautiful woman rather than the monstrous gorgon she's usually portrayed as."

"So, she's hot?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "And she has the ability to charm her victims."

"Hot and charming. I'm liking this woman more and more."

Sam threw a pillow at him. "Mind on the job, Dean."

Dean grinned. "Okay, so we're looking for hot and charming. Shouldn't be too… Awww, hell." He looked at Sam and realized he'd come to the same conclusion as Dean had, probably a lot faster. "The deputy?"

"Afraid so."

"But we looked right at her," Dean said. "I thought she was supposed to turn people to stone."

"And I thought vampires were allergic to garlic," Sam countered. "Not all the myths are true. We know she can turn people to stone, as she has; it just looks like that FOP thing. Maybe she has to want to kill before it works."

Dean buried his face in his hands. "Why did it have to be the stunningly hot one that turned out to be the monster?"

Sam laughed softly. "Welcome to my life. I say we load up on blades and lure her someplace private so we can deal with her. We won't need to…"

"Won't need to what?" Dean asked, looking up. "Sammy?"

Sam was staring at the opposite wall, his eyes glazed and blank. For a heart-stopping minute, Dean thought he was really gone, checked out again, then Sam blinked and looked at Dean.

"What?"

"What did you see?" Dean asked, forgetting the fact he was supposed to be playing at normal.

"Nothing," Sam lied, raking a hand through his hair. "I'm going to go get us some food. I'll be right back."

"The hell with that," Dean snapped.

"Dean, please," Sam said, and there was quiet desperation in his tone. "I just need a minute."

Dean bit down on his tongue. He wanted to tell Sam he wasn't leaving him to wander off alone. He wanted to tell him he had to stay and talk about what he'd just seen. But he couldn't do either while Sam was looking at him like that. Like he may just fracture if he heard too harsh a word. Hating what he was doing, to hell with normal, he settled back on his seat and said in a forced casual tone, "Bring me back some pie."

Sam pulled on his coat and waved. "Okay."

As the door closed behind Sam's retreating back, Dean cursed loudly and fluidly. He was sick of this, of his brother's suffering. For a few hours it had been good, pretending to be normal and enjoying the hunt, but Sam's damn broken brain had to trip him up and make it clear that nothing was normal and everything was wrong. The worst part was there was no one to blame but himself. Sam had made that deal to save him. He'd been trapped in Hell for ten long months because Dean had failed to bring him back. It was all down to him that Sam was suffering like this now.

He was so lost in thoughts of his failure that he didn't immediate realize his phone was ringing. He tugged it out of his pocket and answered with a gruff. "Hello."

"What's wrong with you?" Bobby asked.

Dean sighed. "Sam."

"He okay?"

"He's the same as usual," Dean said. "It's fine. What did you call for?"

"I asked Anna and Cas about your little problem. Turns out Medusa is a tricky one. She has power over those that she affects. She can kill you with a look, but only if she wants to. Basically, according to Cas, she kills as and when she wants, but when she's got the killing mood on, her eyes will shine silver."

"Like shapeshifter silver?"

"I guess so. It should help you out when you track her down anyway."

"We've already done that," Dean said. "We think it's the deputy. She fits the criteria anyway. How's it going with you?"

"Not good," Bobby said. "Let's just say this case has provided us with something of a moral dilemma." He sighed. "Never mind. We'll get it taken care of. You concentrate on what you've got going on."

"Okay. Thanks for the intel, Bobby. We appreciate it."

"I sure hope so. I'll see you, Dean."

"Yeah."

No sooner had Dean ended the call when it rang again with an unknown number. "Hello?"

Agent DeYoung, it's Deputy Green."

For a moment, Dean forgot this was the fugly of the week he was talking to. He forgot that this could be Medusa, the cause of five deaths so far. He only remembered the long red hair and sweet smile.

"Oh, hey," Dean said stupidly. "What can I do for you?"

"We've had another death. I thought you and your partner would like to see the scene."

Reality caught up with Dean again, and a sense of foreboding settled over him. This was a trap, that much was obvious, but could they turn it into a trap for her? It was worth a shot. The only other option was setting their own trap and hoping she was stupid enough to fall for it.

"Sure, we'll come by. Where are you?" he asked.

"I'm at the fairground, at the carousel."

"We'll be right there," Dean said.

He ended the call and dialed Sam's number. It rang once and then he heard the tinny sound of Sam's ringtone on the other side of the room. Cursing to himself, he crossed to where Sam had left his suit jacket hanging over the back of a chair and pulled out Sam's phone.

"Dammit, Sammy," he muttered.

The only thing he could do was make his way to the diner and hope Sam hadn't wandered in the other direction. He grabbed the Impala's keys from the table and made his way out of the door.

He was expecting a search for Sam, at least as far as the diner, what he wasn't expecting was for Sam to be leaning against the hood of the Impala, looking down at his too large shoes. He didn't seem to have heard the door opening, as he continued to look down. Dean crossed to him and tapped his shoulder. "Sam?"

Sam jerked back as if burned and in the second before he marshaled his expression, Dean saw terror in his eyes, and tears.

Sam quickly rubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the tears. "Sorry."

"It's… Never mind. I got a call from Deputy Medusa and she's got another body for us to look at."

Sam nodded briskly and sniffed. "Gotta be a trap."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. She's over at the fairground on the edge of town."

They climbed into the car and started down the main street. As they drove, Dean told Sam what Bobby had said about her eyes.

"At least we have a way of proving it's her before we chop off her head," Sam said.

"Yeah, expect we look _into _those eyes and we're dead," Dean countered.

Sam shrugged and sank lower in his seat and they passed the rest of the short drive in silence.

* * *

><p>Going into a hunt when your head wasn't completely in the game wasn't good. 'All in or all dead' was one of John Winchester's favorite sayings. Sam wasn't all in, it was impossible for him to be these days, but he was going to do his damndest. He couldn't let Dean go in there alone.<p>

There was a patrol car parked at the brightly colored entrance to the fairground, and Dean pulled the Impala to a stop beside it. The climbed out and went to the trunk to retrieve their weapons. Sam selected a machete that had once been his father's, hoping the talismanic properties would help him get through the fight without slipping.

Dean slammed the trunk shut, making no effort to hide the noise. Medusa would have heard the rumble of the engine already, so there was no chance of sneaking up on her. This was going to have to be done without stealth.

"You got this, Sammy?" Dean asked.

Sam hefted the machete over his shoulder and nodded briskly. He actually felt a little better now. He wasn't seeing crazy crap; his brain seemed to have given itself over to the hunt for a change.

"You hear that?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. From somewhere within the fair was a tinkling tune playing, sounding like it was coming from an old-fashioned organ.

Grips tightening on the hilt of their blades, they made their way forward. It seemed the fairground was only equipped when there was an event in town, as though they saw many stalls and stands, they were empty. The carousel seemed to be the centerpiece of the area. It was decorated with soft pastel colors and the flying horses had manes of painted hair that reflected in the many mirrors at the centre of the ride. It was easy to imagine it as it would be with children riding it and people bustling around.

"Deputy Green," Dean called. "You here."

A soft laugh came from the other side of the ride. "Really, gentlemen. You and I both know I am not _really_ Deputy Green. You know my real name. Use it."

"Medusa." Dean's voice was a low growl.

There was the sound of footsteps approaching over the planked floor of the ride and she appeared. If possible, she was even more beautiful than she seemed before. For a moment, Sam was entranced by her all over again. He forgot what she was, what she was capable of, he stared right at her as she sauntered forward.

A pain on his shoulder brought him back to himself and he looked away quickly to stare at Dean. Dean's hand was still raised from where he had hit Sam, and his eyes were wild with tension.

"It's okay," she said. "You can look at me. I promise not to hurt you."

Dean huffed a laugh. "Sure you do. You just invited us back here for a friendly chat."

Sam locked his eyes on her reflection in the mirror. The way she was standing, half facing them, made it possible for them to see her in profile only. Sam couldn't get a good enough look into her eyes to know if they were silver or not.

"I did," she said innocently. "I wanted the chance to speak with you in private. I needed to know who you are, as you're not FBI. Are you hunters?"

"Yeah," Dean said a hint of pride in his tone. "And we're the first hunters that can say we bagged a medusa."

"_A_ Medusa," she said with scorn. "It is not a breed, it's a name. I _am _Medusa."

Dean whistled. "That's pretty impressive."

"What about your sisters?" Sam asked. "Are they here, too?" His curiosity was driven by the need to know what would happen next. They might kill Medusa but her Gorgon sisters were supposed to be just as bad not to mention immortal.

"Dead," she said, and there was sorrow in her voice. "Taken by hunters long ago. Which is why I was here. I knew I would be hunted so I made myself a life. I have spent the centuries blending in and living a human life. It was the only way to protect myself. And then you came. Where one hunter treads, another will follow."

Dean looked smug. "Yeah, not to mention our guardian angels. All in all, you're pretty screwed."

She bowed her head. "I know it. Which is why I have a request."

"This should be good," Dean muttered then he spoke up. "What do you want?"

"I want to die."

Dean huffed a laugh. "Sure you do. Let me guess, you just want us to look into your eyes to believe it. Sorry, sister, not gonna happen."

"No tricks," she said. "I am ready for my end. I cannot do it myself. I am asking for your help."

"Why do you want to die?" Sam asked. "You're immortal. You have forever."

"I _had_ forever," she said, "and then you came. If I kill you, some other hunters will come in your place, and they won't allow me any dignity."

"What makes you think we'll give you any?" Dean asked.

"I see you," she said. "I see how you are with each other. I have lived a long life. I know how to read people, and I know you are used to giving dignity. I know you will allow me that."

Sam wondered what she meant. How had they given anyone dignity in front of her. He cast aside the question for the moment, focusing on what was happening around him. In the mirror's reflection, Sam saw her move so she was kneeling on the floor with her head bowed.

"How do we know this isn't a trap?" Dean asked. "How do we know you won't turn your freaky mojo on us when we get too close?"

"You don't," she said simply. "You just have to trust in me."

"I'll do it," Sam said.

"Hold up" What the hell do you mean you'll do it?" Dean snapped. "This could be a trap Sam."

It could be, and yet Sam didn't believe it. He understood desperation, and he saw it in Medusa. Desperation had driven him from crossroad to crossroad, searching for a demon to deal with him. He heard that same longing in her voice now. She wanted it to end, just as he had.

He shifted his grip on the hilt of his machete and stepped forward. Dean snatched the sleeve of his jacket and dragged him back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What we came here to do," Sam said. "We came to kill her, and she's not even fighting us. She needs this, Dean, do you see that?"

Some internal battle seemed to be raging in Dean. His eyes tightened and he stared into Sam as if seeing right through him. Finally, his grip on Sam slackened and he nodded. "Fine, but I'm doing it."

Sam shook his head. He didn't think it was, but it could still be a trap. He was prepared to risk himself for that, to die, but he couldn't risk Dean. If Sam died, the world would lose a traumatized shell of a man; if Dean died, it would lose a hero.

As if he knew exactly what Sam was thinking, Dean shook his head jerkily. "No, Sam!"

Sam turned away from Dean and looked down at Medusa, kneeling with her head bowed. She needed this and he was the right person to give it to her.

"Please," he said softly. "Let me do this."

Dean didn't reply with words. He merely stepped back and looked determinedly at the floor.

Sam raised the machete and corrected his grip. "I'm sorry." He didn't know whether he was talking to his brother or Medusa, but the message seemed to reach them both. He heard Dean sigh out a shaky breath and the hard line of Medusa's shoulders softened.

He swept the blade through the air, driving it through flesh and blood and bone. The head fell to the floor with an anticlimactic thud.

* * *

><p>There was a river running through the rear of the fairground, and Sam and Dean pushed the remains weighted with rocks into the water under the cover of darkness. The disappearance of Deputy Green would remain a mystery. That was one problem dealt with, for Dean there was another, infinitely more pressing needing discussion.<p>

He drove with his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel as they made their way out of town. He wanted to put some distance between him and Amherst before they sat down and had the heavy conversation. He needed the distance from the place everything had become clear.

Eventually, they came to a stretch of road flanked by fields and he pulled into a rest area and cut the engine. He climbed out of the car and moved to lean on the hood. They were alone, there were no other cars and the road was quiet.

Looking confused, Sam climbed out too and came to stand in front of Dean. "You want me to take a turn driving?" he asked.

"We need to talk," Dean said darkly.

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I guess we do."

Dean took a deep, calming breath, and then shouted, "What the hell, Sam?"

Sam's eyes snapped open and he looked momentarily taken aback. Dean had been going easy on Sam since he got back, but if there was ever a reason to drop that and lose his temper a little, this was it. His brother had risked his own neck, knowingly, and he didn't even seem to get that it would be a problem for Dean, judging by the look on his face.

"You could have been killed!" Dean snapped.

Some of the cogs in Sam's brain seemed to slip into place and a look of understanding settled in his features. "Dean…"

"Don't _Dean _me. You could have been killed, Sam, and you know it. What the hell were you thinking?"

Sam's eyes tightened. "I was thinking that it was fifty/fifty, for whichever of us took the shot, so why shouldn't it be me?"

"Why shouldn't it be you?" Dean huffed. "How about _because you could have died!" _

"Which would have sucked," Sam said.

"Sucked!" Dean raked a hand through his hair and then a sickening idea occurred to him. "Do you want to die?" His voice quavered a little at the end.

"No!" Sam said quickly, too quickly for Dean's liking.

"Don't lie to me, Sam."

"I'm not." Sam's eyes widened as if he was imploring Dean to see the truth there. Dean looked, but he couldn't see truth through the panic. "I just… I took a risk, Dean."

"That's not gonna cut it," Dean said. "You know what, the hell with it. I know what you've been doing, Sam. Pretending it's all A-Okay in there, but you and I both know it's far from it. So how's about you stop pretending for a change and tell me what's really going on in that head of yours."

Sam's hands fisted at his sides. "We're not doing this. We're not dragging all my crap into this."

"I say we are. Is it so bad you want to die?"

"No," Sam said. "I just figured…"

"What?"

"I figured if one of us was going, why should it be the one that's still got something to give? I'm broken, Dean, screwed up. If I go, I'm not leaving a hole, I'm sewing one closed. You'd be able to fight without me."

Dean felt like he'd been sucker punched. Of everything he'd feared his brother to be thinking, this hadn't come up. He'd thought Sam was overwhelmed by the hell he was facing, not thinking in some twisted way that he was doing the right thing. How could Sam think he could fight alone?

"You think I can do this without you?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"I know you can. You did it before. When I was in Hell, you managed better than I ever did. Without you, all I could do was travel from one crossroads to another trying to get you back. I couldn't hunt. I was useless. You did it before and you can do it again. You were okay."

Dean's fury rose and he gripped Sam's shirt and shook his roughly. "You think I was _okay_? I was barely hanging on. Every day was some new nightmare and you were gone. I didn't live, Sam, I existed. I didn't fight because I could; I did because of you. You were gone and I was alone and I had no choice but to keep going!"

Sam looked down at where Dean's hands were fisted in his shirt and Dean reluctantly released him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I thought…" He shook his head. "I was wrong."

"You were," Dean said, "damn wrong."

"I'm sorry," Sam said again.

Dean stepped back and raked a hand through his hair. "We can't keep on like this, Sam. You can't go thinking your life is worth less than mine somehow because of what's going on with you and you can't pretend everything's okay when it's not. You're not broken and you're not screwed up. You've just been through a lot and it's left scars. So, please, for me, stop pretending."

Sam bowed his head and Dean saw a tear track down his nose to the dusty blacktop. ""Okay."

"And you got to do something else," Dean said. "You gotta fight. I don't know what Lucifer did or said to you in the future to make you say yes but I'm betting he found your buttons and pressed them. You can't go round thinking your life means less to the world, because that's just damned wrong and it's a surefire way for him to get his claws into you."

Sam nodded, still looking down at the ground. Dean gripped his chin and forced him to look up. Sam's eyes were wet and there were tear tracks streaking down his face.

"You hearing me?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I'm hearing you."

Dean forced a smile. "Good."

* * *

><p><strong>So… Things are coming to a close now. There are a few more chapters till the end, so the pace will pick up and we will see canon events coming back. Apologies if that's not something you enjoy. <strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Asylum 12! I just got back from my con yesterday and for those of you that asked to hear about it… here goes. <strong>

**Jared: Gives the best hugs in the world and Dear Chuck he is gorgeous. **

**Misha: I have no words. Hilarious and sweet and downright adorable. **

**Sebastian: I laughed so hard at his panel I was crying. He had the whole hall (probably about a thousand people) doing the Harlem Shake.**

**Mark P: Can defend Lucifer's actions like no one else, including me and I love Luci. **

**Mark S: Again with the defense. **

**Ty: He was just as wonderful as I hoped and his panel crashing was hilarious—Star Wars sound effects included. **

**Osric: He is such a sweetie. When I got my auto he was handing out candy. **

**Amanda, Tyler, Gabe, Aj and Adam: Wasn't that excited about them but they completely caught me off guard with their awesomeness. Adam's Yoda voice was worth going for alone. **

**If you get an opportunity to go to a con, you HAVE TO GO! Best weekend of my life. Even better than last year. **


	16. Chapter 16

**Thanks for the support for the last chapter. This one is my favorite. I was so eager to write the Heaven events that I sat and wrote this just after finishing Chapter Nine and had to work my way back to cover events between. It is a chapter that covers canon events, but please don't skip, as except for a few short scenes, it is a very different story.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Sixteen<strong>_

Sam knew even before he woke that there was something horribly wrong. The tension in the room was palpable. He lifted his head slowly from the pillow and looked to the side. Dean was still fast asleep, lying huddled over his pillow.

Someone cleared their throat and Sam looked to the end of the bed. Standing with a shotgun pointed at him was a man wearing a black balaclava. There was another man standing at the end of the other bed, pointing a gun at Dean.

"Hey, Sam," one of the men said. "We heard you were back, but we had to see it for ourselves."

Sam's heart pounded in his chest. These men were going to kill them. He didn't care much for himself, but he was terrified for Dean.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Well, for starters, we want to know what you're doing walking around looking human when all evidence pointed at you being killed a year ago. What kind of creature are you that crawls out of its grave after a year and yet looks like that?" He gestured up and down Sam's body with the barrel of the shotgun. "What did your brother do, hoodoo or something worse?"

"Dean didn't do anything," Sam said quickly. "It was the angels."

"There ain't no such thing!"

He chanced a glance to the side to see if the man had woken Dean, but Dean remained asleep. Sam was relieved. Perhaps if they dealt with Sam without Dean waking, they would leave him alone.

"Test me," he said quietly. "There's everything you'll need in that duffel. I can prove I'm human."

The men exchanged a glance and then shook their heads. "Nah, we think it'll be easier if we just blow a hole in you here and now."

Sam shrugged, unconcerned. He had Lucifer's promise that he would be brought back anyway, and even if he wasn't, he wasn't afraid of death. It would mean he couldn't be a vessel anymore and that was a win as far as he was concerned. "Go ahead."

The first man pulled back his balaclava and turned to his friend. Sam recognized him as Walt, a hunter he had seen a few times in Bill's, which made the other man Roy.

"See, I told you he wasn't human! He knows shooting him ain't gonna cut it!"

"We'll see about that," Roy said, raising his gun.

Sam saw his finger twitch on the trigger and then felt a flaring pain across his chest, and then nothing.

* * *

><p>The harsh crack of a gun blast ripped Dean from sleep and into the waking world. He jerked upright. He saw the two men standing at the end of his bed, but he didn't pay them more than a split-second's attention. He was looking for Sam. His eyes fell on the bed beside him and his breath caught in his throat. Sam was splayed on the bed, with his arms flung out at his sides, and a heavy red stain on his chest.<p>

He threw himself out of bed and towards Sam, a choking sob building in his chest.

"Sam! Sammy!" he shouted desperately. "Wake up!" His hands flew to Sam's chest and he dragged up his shirt to try to find where the blood was coming from. "Sam, open your eyes," he commanded.

"Step away from him, Dean," a voice growled behind him, but he paid it no attention. It wasn't Sam, so it didn't matter. All that mattered was making Sam open his damn eyes and stop scaring Dean.

He could ignore the voice, but he couldn't ignore the strong arms that yanked him backwards, sending him sprawling onto his ass.

He turned, a snarl curving his lips back, and recognized the men as a pair he'd once teamed up with for a vampire hunt. They were pointing shotguns at him and their fingers were on the triggers. "What did you do?" he growled.

"We killed a monster," Roy said. "We did what you couldn't."

"Enough talking," Walt said. "Shoot him already!"

Roy looked uncomfortable. "Killing Sam was right but Dean…"

"We just snuffed his brother, you idiot. You want to spend the rest of your life knowing Dean Winchester's on your ass? 'Cause I don't. Shoot him."

Dean turned away from them and their conversation of his impending demise and looked at his brother. His silent, still brother. His heart refused to accept it, but his mind forced him to acknowledge it. Sam was dead.

He lurched for the bed, reaching for his gun to kill the men, the monsters that had killed his brother, but before he could pull back the pillow, he heard a crack and then felt a burning pain over his back and then nothing.

* * *

><p>"Here you go, Sam," Bobby said, setting a plate of pancakes in front of him. "Eat up."<p>

"Where's mine?" Dean demanded.

"Hold your horses," Bobby said. "It's coming."

Across the table, Sam shot Dean a grin and made a show of cutting a piece of his pancakes and relishing the taste. Dean kicked out at him and it landed hard, making his eyes water. He opened his mouth to complain to Bobby, but at that moment, Bobby turned back and set a plate in front of Dean.

"You boys are behaving, right?" he asked.

"Yes, Bobby," they both intoned innocently.

"That's good," Bobby said. "I'd sure hate to have to tell your daddy you'd been fooling around while you were staying here."

Dean immediately looked contrite. "No, sir, no need for that."

Sam grinned. He figured he deserved the kick; he had been baiting his brother after all. Dean dove into his pancakes, making happy noises as he chewed and swallowed. Bobby watched him with amusement for a moment, and then he picked up his coffee and took a sip.

"Hey, Bobby, any chance of some of that for me?" Dean asked, gesturing to the coffee with his fork.

Bobby grinned. "Sure, kid. You go fill yourself a mug, and while you're up why don't you take a drive into town and pick us up a fifth of whiskey to make it interesting?" He scrubbed a hand through his beard looking thoughtful. "Oh, wait, you can't, 'cause you're twelve! How's about you ask me again when you're shaving?"

Sam choked a laugh as Dean scowled down at the table. Dean was racing ahead of Sam, fighting to be a man already, and a lot of times, their father encouraged it, but it was good to see that Bobby was still treating them equal. Dean was only four years older after all.

Sam wasn't stupid, he knew this was only a dream, but he wasn't questioning it or Lucifer's absence. He remembered going to bed the night before in a motel in Wisconsin as a grown man, but his dream self was a child again and he was enjoying the escape for a while. It was better than what was waiting for him in reality.

"Something wrong with your breakfast, Sam?" Bobby asked.

"No, sir," Sam said quickly, taking a large bite. "It's good."

Bobby smiled and the lines around his eyes crinkled. "So, what do you boys want to do today?"

Dean immediately launched into a wheedling request to be shown the engine of the Mustang Bobby had waiting in the shop, and Sam just listened to them speak. It was comfortable here, and peaceful, there were no demons or Hell memories rolling around in his head and he was happy. Except… Something was suddenly wrong.

A throat cleared behind him and he turned to see a fully-grown, adult Dean standing in the doorway behind him. "Dean?"

The older version of his brother nodded sadly and beckoned him forward. Sam looked from him to Dean and Bobby who were still wrangling chores against time spent in the Mustang's engine, oblivious to their visitor. Almost without thought, Sam got to his feet and crossed the room to the doorway, only vaguely noting the fact his childish form had been replaced by his adult height and bulk.

"What's going on?" he asked Dean.

Dean shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sam, but we've got to go." He turned and walked into the hallway.

"Go where?" Sam didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay here with his brother and Bobby, where the only concern was who was going to do the dishes. He knew if he left this room, the scene behind him would evaporate like mist and he would be forced to face reality again. Part of him fought against it, wanting to sit down and finish his breakfast, but Dean was here, the real Dean, and he needed Sam.

Casting his young brother and Bobby a look of longing, he turned away from them and followed Dean into the hall.

"What's happened?" he asked.

Dean sighed and raked a hand over his face. "I don't know how to tell you this… What do you remember?"

Sam considered. He remembered booking into the motel and crashing down to sleep. There was something else there, some memory that followed, but he was reluctant to follow it through to completion. Almost against his will, he pushed against the force holding those memories at bay and he was met with searing pain and fear. His hand came up to rub phantom wounds on his chest and he closed his eyes. "They shot me."

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"So this is what, some drug induced dream? I'm in a hospital, right?"

Dean winced. "No, Sammy, you're not in the hospital. Neither of us are."

Sam's breath caught in his throat. "You too?"

"Yeah, the assholes gunned us both down." He braced his hands on Sam's shoulders. "Sam, we're dead."

Sam felt like he had been punched in the gut. Dean! Dead!

If he was being honest with himself, he would have known he was dead from the moment he woke up in the spare room of Bobby's house with a twelve-year-old Dean snoring beside him. He should have known when a younger Bobby, devoid of grey hairs, came into the room and called them down for breakfast. He should have known it wasn't a dream, as Lucifer wasn't there, but it had been so good to forget the truth for a while. He hadn't wanted to know.

"They iced me right after you," Dean said.

"How did we end up in Heaven?" Sam asked. "Our souls were Hellbound from the minute we made our deals."

"No idea. I'm not questioning it though. We lucked out and we're here."

"Are you sure it's Heaven? It couldn't be a shared dream or hallucination?"

Dean shook his head sadly. "It's Heaven, Sammy. I came to in one of my memories, the fourth of July, ninety-six."

Sam smiled. "The time we burned down a field?"

"Yeah, that one. Cas came through the car radio and filled me in. He told me I had to follow the road and I'd find you. I did, and here we are. He told me something else, too."

Sam raised his eyebrows and gestured for Dean to go on.

"Cas want us to find some garden for him. There's a guy there, Joshua, that talks to God. Cas thinks if we can talk to him, explain what's happening on earth, he can get God to lend us some holy assistance."

"Finding a garden?" Sam considered. "That can't be too hard."

"Except we're not supposed to be here. That Zachariah dick's got to be looking for us already. The flying monkeys are going to want us both to be back in the game pretty damn fast."

"We better get going then," Sam said briskly. "No point hanging around here."

Dean nodded and pushed open the front door. Instead of being met with Bobby's porch, they found themselves in a kitchen with anachronistic appliances and furniture. There was the scent of apples and cinnamon in the air and from out of sight came a soft voice humming.

Dean paled. "I know where we are!"

"Where?" Sam asked, concerned by Dean's pallor. What could be in the innocent looking room that would make his brother look like that?

"We're home."

Sam's eyes roved the room. He needed to see her, to catch just a glimpse, as he was sure she was there. Heaven seemed to be a conglomeration of their memories, he'd had breakfast with Bobby and Dean had them lighting fireworks together, so this had to be Dean's memory too and what would make a better heaven than their mom?

Then she was there. She peered around the edge of the door and smiled beautifully. "Hey, sweetie, you hungry?" She came forward and took Dean's hand. "Let's get you a sandwich. PB&J okay?"

Dean sat down at the table and stared up at his mother with a look of longing that Sam was sure was echoed on his own face. There was something about seeing her here, alive and vital, living the life she should have had that made him want to weep. If not for Azazel, this would have been their life. Sam would have been sitting down with his brother, sharing lunch and basking in the love of his mother. But he wasn't here, not really, she couldn't see him, as this had never happened. This was Dean's memory, not his. He couldn't bear it a moment later.

"Dean," he said softly. "I'm gonna just… I'll be just outside."

Dean tore his eyes from his mother and looked at Sam guiltily. "No, I'll come with. We can't hang around."

Sam held up his hands. "Not yet. Just have another minute with her. You deserve it."

Dean looked grateful. "Don't go far, Sammy."

"I won't."

He walked back into the hall and closed the door softly behind him. He looked around, taking in the wallpaper and polished wood floor. Would he have learned to walk on this floor? Would his mother have held her arms open to him, watching him toddle towards her? A lifetime of possibilities opened to him and he swallowed thickly. This was the life he should have had, and its loss had never seemed more painful.

Music drifted out from behind a closed door, and Sam looked up. He knew that song; he knew what he would find behind that door, _who_ he would find. For a split second, he hesitated, not sure that he was ready to see what was behind that door, then the lure of his love pulled him through the door.

He was met with the thudding sounds of _Classic's, What Cha Gonna Do_. A smile curved his lips as the smell of spilled beer and liquor reached him. This was all familiar to him. He had spent many long nights in this place, relaxing with the woman he loved.

"Sam," a voice called across the crowded bar and he propelled himself across the short distance to her side.

"Jess." Her name was a soft sigh of happiness. It was her, or Heaven's version of her, and she had never looked more beautiful. Her sexy nurse costume showed her figure off and her blonde hair waved out behind her. He had seen her recently, when Lucifer had chosen her to tempt him, but there were differences. He had not been able to mimic the light in her eyes or the grace of her movements. This was real, whereas Lucifer had only been able to produce a vague facsimile.

"Baby, I thought you were getting drinks," she said with an amused smile. "You forget."

"Must have," Sam said, ducking his head. "Sorry."

"It doesn't matter. Luis can get them." She nudged the man standing next to her and he snapped into action. Sam hadn't noticed him before, but now he saw his old friend Luis standing there.

"Beer?"

Jessica nodded enthusiastically and Sam grinned. He remembered this night well. If he stayed, they would move onto shots and the topic of his LSAT score would come up. Jessica would be proud and he would be embarrassed outwardly while inwardly marveling at the achievement.

Luis ambled to the bar and Jessica leaned her head on Sam's arm. He bowed his head and kissed her hair, drawing a deep breath of the coconut shampoo she used. It was all so familiar and wonderful that he was tempted to stay here forever, away from the troubles of the real world, but he couldn't. He could feel someone's eyes on him and he knew who it was. He knew what he had to do.

He held Jessica's shoulders and leaned forwards to kiss her. Their lips met and his eyes slid closed. He poured all his love and passion into the kiss, hoping to communicate his adoration to her. He wanted her to know she was loved by him more than was possible. He wanted her to know that there was only one thing, one person, that could draw him away from her.

As he pulled back, Jess lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. "You okay, Baby?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I've just got to do something. I'll be right back." She pouted and Sam smiled. "I won't be long." It was a lie but he couldn't break the moment by telling her the truth. He took one last searching look at her and then turned away.

Dean was waiting at the bar, as he knew he would be the moment he'd felt his eyes on him. He knew that Dean too had taken all he could from the memory that had been chosen for him, and it was time to move on.

* * *

><p>Dean watched Sam as he extricated himself from Jess and made his way across the bar to him. He hated that he had to come here, to interrupt Sam's time with his girlfriend, but they had to keep going before Zachariah found then.<p>

"I'm sorry," he said as soon as Sam reached him. "You want to take a little longer, to say…"

"I said goodbye to Jess a long time ago." Despite the firmness of his words, there was deep sadness in Sam's eyes.

He pointed to a door at the end of the room, opposite the one they had come into the bar through, and Sam nodded. It was as good a place to start their search as any.

They came out in a darkly wooded area. Sam turned to Dean, a question in his eyes, but before he could say anything, a bright, white light snapped on above, illuminating them. Dean grabbed Sam's arm and they set off running through the trees. Dean was sure he knew just which dick with wings would be on the opposite end of that spotlight. His suspicions were confirmed when Zachariah's voice called out to them.

"Guys, what's the problem? I just want to send you back to Earth, that's all."

Dean pulled Sam behind a log and they dropped down to their knees, hunched over so they were out of sight. Dean pressed a finger to his lips and turned slightly so he could peer over the top of the log. Zachariah was standing only a few feet away with his back to them.

"I mean, that is, after I tear you a cosmos of new ones," he said. "You're on my turf now, boys. And by the time I through with you, you're going to be begging to say yes."

Sam and Dean jumped to their feet and raced away from Zachariah. Dean had no idea how long they could keep going, but they weren't stopping until someone forced them to. They came to a screeching halt as Zachariah materialized in front of them, smiling widely.

"Guys, c'mon. You can run but you can't _run_."

They turned away and ran again, hearing Zachariah laughing behind them. Then out of the trees ran a figure wearing a mask and gold cape. He pressed a finger to his lips and spoke quietly. "Hurry! This way."

* * *

><p>Dean was sitting on a stool, sipping a beer, and marveling on the insanity that was him being in Harvelle's with Sam and Ash when the Roadhouse had burned to the ground and Ash was, well, dead. It was Heaven though, and your sense of reality had to be checked at the door.<p>

Ash was explaining something on his laptop to Sam, and Sam was listening and nodding, and looking engaged in a way Dean hadn't seen since the hounds had dragged him to Hell. He didn't immediately recognize the expression on Sam's face; it took him a while to recognize it as peace. Sam was in Heaven, literally, after being blown away by two psycho hunters, listening to Ash rambling on, and he was at peace. It was surreal but it made sense in a sick kind of way. Sam wasn't fighting Hell here.

Dean would give almost anything to keep Sam looking like that.

Ash said something funny, Dean didn't hear what, and Sam tossed back his head and laughed. He turned, still laughing, and looked at Dean, as if to check he was still there. Dean forced a grin and raised his can of beer to Sam. Sam nodded, his eyes still alight with amusement, and turned back to Ash.

Dean wanted this for his brother. He wanted him to be able to enjoy a laugh and beer with Ash without having to worry about Ash's face transforming into a demon's. His brother deserved that, he deserved Heaven, but for him to have that, he'd have to leave Dean behind.

As soon as the thought occurred to him, Dean's mind shied away from it. He didn't want to think about being separated from his brother again, not after how hard it had been to live the last year alone, but maybe this was what Sam needed. In Heaven, he was protected from Lucifer and the apocalypse. He would be at peace in a way he could never be back in the real world. Though his mind rebelled from the thought, reminding him of how much he had suffered alone before, but that had been when Sam was in Hell. Could he let his brother go and live alone if it meant Sam was in Heaven? The answer was a simple yes. It would hurt him to do it, but he could if it was what Sam needed. If only there was a way to keep Zachariah off of their tails.

"Hey, Dean, we've got something," Sam said, making Dean's head snap up.

"We do?"

"Yeah, Ash found us a short cut to the Garden."

Ash beamed and put his thumbs up and Dean returned the gesture. Ash clicked on his laptop for a moment and then began to draw a sigil on the wall. It wasn't like any Dean had seen before.

"Straight through this door, you'll find the garden," Ash said, clapping Sam on the shoulder. "You boys take care now. Keep an eye out for those angels."

"We will," Sam said.

Sam pushed open the door and strode through it. Dean made to follow, but Ash caught his arm.

"I'll keep an eye on him, Dean," he said quietly. "If, you know, he needs me here to."

Dean frowned. "How do you…?"

Ash grinned. "I'm Doctor Badass. I know everything."

Dean nodded his thanks and followed Sam through the door.

It was like walking into a nightmare, no, it was worse than that. At least then he'd had the comfort of waking up and knowing it wasn't real. This time that comfort was denied to him, as it was shockingly real.

Sam was shackled to the wrought iron rack; his shirt was torn open to reveal the clean expanse of flesh beneath. His legs were spread and his ankles bound to the post at each corner, as were his wrists. He was prone and unable to do a thing to defend himself.

Dean felt something being pressed into his hand and he knew without looking what it would be. He knew the exact weight and feel of that razor, as he had wielded it for a time.

Sam looked up at him and there was open fear in his eyes. "Dean, no, please," he choked.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't say a word. He didn't know what he would say even if he could.

Someone clapped their hands slowly and Dean spun around to see Zachariah standing before him. His smug face was stretched into a wide smile and his eyes were alight with malice. "Dean, Dean, Dean," he said. "It's so good to see you again."

Dean forced his fingers to unlock and the razor dropped to the floor with a clang.

"You bastard," he spat, crossing the distance to his brother and grappling with the shackles at Sam's wrists. Sam watched, drawing heaving breaths through his teeth, wide eyes watching Dean's every movement. When he realized there was no way of freeing Sam, Dean turned back to Zachariah. "Let him go!"

"I will not," Zachariah said. "This may be Heaven, but I am an angel. I rule here. I owe you two, and I plan to take my time reaping what's mine. I am going to make you—"

"Excuse me. Sir?" The voice came from a man that had just appeared beside Dean. He was slight, with dark, creased skin.

"I'm in a meeting," Zachariah said impatiently.

"I'm sorry," the newcomer said. "I need to speak to those two."

Zachariah's mouth dropped open with shock. "Excuse me?"

"It's a bad time, I know, but I'm afraid I have to insist."

"You don't get to insist jack-squat!" Zachariah spat.

Instead of faltering under Zachariah's fury, the man stared calmly back, and Dean guessed who this newcomer was. Joshua.

"No, you're right. But the boss does. His orders."

Zachariah looked uncertain. "You're lying."

"I wouldn't lie about this. Look, fire me if you want. Sooner or later, he's going to come back home and you know how he is with that whole wrath thing."

There was beat of silence and then Zachariah was gone and Sam was standing straight beside him again, the rack had disappeared.

"You're Joshua?" Dean asked.

"I'm Joshua."

Sam looked doubtful. "So, you talk to God?"

Joshua smiled. "Mostly, He talks to me."

"Well, we need to speak to Him," Dean said. "It's important. Where is he?"

"On Earth."

"Doing what?" Dean asked.

Joshua shrugged. "I don't know."

"Do you know where on Earth?"

"No, sorry. We don't exactly speak face-to-face."

"I… I don't get it. God's not talking to nobody so…" Dean didn't know how to word his question.

"Why's he talking to me?" Joshua smiled. "I sometimes think it's because I can sympathize—gardener to gardener—and, between us, I think he gets lonely."

"Well, my heart's breaking for him," Dean said bitterly.

"Can you at least get him a message for us?" Sam asked.

"Actually," Joshua said, "he has a message for you. Back off."

Dean took a step back. "What?"

"He knows already. Everything you want to tell him."

"But…"

"He knows what the angels are doing. He knows that the Apocalypse has begun. He just doesn't think it's his problem."

Dean was stunned. "Not his problem?"

"God saved you already. He brought back Castiel. He granted you salvation in heaven"—he stared Dean in the eye—"and after everything you've done too. It's more than he's intervened in a long time. He's finished. You won't be able to find him."

Sam turned away and raked a hand through his hair. Dean could see the weight of disappointment settling over his shoulders. He'd needed this, dammit. Sam had needed God to intervene and Dean had needed it too. He'd needed his brother to be free of the weight of being Lucifer's vessel.

"But he can stop it," Dean said in a small voice. "He can stop all of it."

"I suppose he could, but he won't."

"Why not?"

"Why does he allow evil in the first place? You could drive yourself nuts asking questions like that." Joshua shook his head fondly. "I wish I could help, but I can't, not with your quest to find God anyway. There is something else I can do for you, Dean. Something you need."

Sam turned back to look at them, curious about what he'd overheard. "Dean?"

Joshua clicked his fingers and the dim room was replaced with a palm fronds and bright flowers. "This is the garden," he said. "It is my place. I am in command here. I know what you want, Dean. If you wish it, Sam can stay here. I can keep him protected from Zachariah and his henchmen. He need not return to Earth if he doesn't want to. I can keep him safe."

"You want me to stay?" Sam asked, confusion coloring his tone. "Why?"

Dean shook his head sadly. "Look at yourself, Sam. You're different here. There's no Hell and you're not seeing crap, are you?"

Sam shook his head. "No, but…"

"But nothing," Dean said. "You can be here, and be at peace forever. Lucifer can't reach you here."

"But what about you?" Sam asked. "Will you stay too?"

Dean wished he could. He wanted nothing more than to stay here with Sam where they could both have a little peace, but he couldn't. Someone had to stop Lucifer, and that someone was him.

"I can't," he said softly. "I need to be there for the fight."

Sam closed his eyes for a long moment, seeming to process his disappointment. When he opened them again, they were filled with steely resolve. "In that case, I'm coming with you."

"Sam…" Dean started, but Sam spoke over him.

"I'm not leaving you to fight it alone. Either we both stay or we both go. We're not splitting up."

Dean felt sick with guilt. He wanted this for his brother, so much, but he couldn't stay. The world needed him more.

Joshua, who Dean had forgotten until that moment, spoke up then. "If you are resolved to leave, there is something I want to show you first. I believe your friend Ash explained the ways of Heaven to you. The rareness of special cases."

Dean nodded.

"There is one more heaven I wish to show you," Joshua said. He pushed back some palm fronds and a polished door was revealed behind them. "If you would care to go through…"

Dean hesitated. He wasn't sure he was ready to see what was behind that door. Sam felt no such compunction. He moved to the door and pushed it open. Dean followed automatically, remembering what had happened the last time he let Sam walk away from him up here.

Sam turned back on the threshold and a wide smile curved his lips. "Whose is this?" he asked.

Joshua smiled. "It belongs to you both. Enjoy it while you can. I shall return for you soon."

Sam nodded and strode through the door. Dean followed and then stopped dead in his tracks as he saw what was before him. He'd stepped out into a grassy meadow under a dark sky. Looking up, he saw the sky was strewn with bright stars and in the center of the clearing was the Impala and a blue icebox Dean was sure would be filled with cool beers.

Sam turned back and grinned at Dean. "Ours, huh?"

Dean nodded and felt himself smile in response. "Yeah, Sammy. It's ours."

* * *

><p><strong>So… Did Sam make the right choice? Is Heaven really Heaven without his brother?<strong>

**That was Heaven. As I said, I loved writing this, though it made me cry a lot. I love Dark Side Of The Moon but the screw-up that was Sam's heaven gutted me. As soon as I started this story I knew I had to cover those events so I could write something the satisfied me. Is that arrogant? It probably is, but I'm not worried as I just posted my favorite chapter. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	17. Chapter 17

**Here it is, folks, the penultimate chapter of Picking Up The Pieces. Hope you enjoy…**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Seventeen<strong>_

"I don't know, Bobby," Sam called through door to the kitchen. "There's nothing new in here about him. I think we're going to—" There was a muffled thud sound.

Bobby raced into the library, his heart in his mouth. He was expecting to find Sam unconscious on the floor or standing like a living statue as his mind locked itself away from the real world again. What he wasn't expecting to find was the heavy book Sam had been reading to be open on the floor and no other sign that Sam had even been there.

"Sam?" he called gently, then his voice rose to a shout. "Sam! Where the hell are you?"

If this was a trick, some kind of joke, Bobby was going to take a tire iron to Sam. There was no excuse for scaring him like this, and Sam knew that. They were all jumpy given everything that had happened lately, and disappearing midsentence was screwed up.

He went from room to room, calling Sam's name, but there was no reply, and with every step the worry grew like a monstrous beast in his chest. When he came back into the library—to no Sam—he flopped down onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. What was he going to do? What was he going to tell Dean?

It was hardly his fault, Sam should've been able to be left alone for a few minutes while he made coffee for them both, but Sam was gone, and Dean was going to need to blame someone. Hell, Bobby needed someone to blame, too. This wasn't supposed to happen. Dean was only at the store, Bobby should have been able to keep Sam safe for the length of that break.

He knew what he had to do next, and with numb fingers he picked up the phone and dialed Dean's cell. He took a deep breath as he heard the call connect, and prepared himself for Dean's wrath, but it wasn't Dean's voice that he heard.

"Who am I talking to?" the voice asked.

"Who the hell am I talking to, and what are you doing with this phone?"

"This is Sheriff Mills of the Sioux Falls police department."

"Sheriff?" Bobby said before he could stop himself.

"Bobby? Is that you, Singer?"

Bobby sighed. This was about to get very awkward. "Yeah, it's me. What are you doing with this phone?"

"I got a call to Sunshine Foods because, and I quote, a male model disappeared into thin air, leaving a cell phone and pie behind."

Well that definitely sounded like Dean, Bobby thought, right down to his favorite snack.

"Got any explanation for that?" The sheriff asked.

"Alien abduction?" Bobby said hopefully.

"Isn't it a little early for you to be _that_ loaded? Never mind. I forgot who I was talking to."

"Look, Sheriff, I don't know what's happened. Dean, the guy whose phone you have, is staying with me for a few days. I don't know what he's playing at, but knowing Dean, it's a joke. I wouldn't let it worry you. I'll deal with him when he turns up."

"Hmmm, okay, Singer, I'll let it go for now, but any other 'jokes' and I'll be making a trip out to that graveyard you call a business to talk to this Dean in person."

"No need for that," Bobby said quickly. Dean and Sam were believed dead by the authorities, but before their supposed demise, they were both wanted criminals. The last thing they needed was the sheriff making her name by busting the two of them.

The sheriff disconnected the call and Bobby closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing what he'd heard. Something had grabbed Dean. There were a few fuglys that could do the job, but the most likely was an angel, and that was bad news for everyone. It could be Anna or Castiel, their friendly angels, or it could be someone less innocuous, like Lucifer.

Bobby raked a hand through his hair in frustration. He didn't know what to do next. He knew he needed help though, so as he dialed Rufus' number, he raised his eyes heavenward and called, "Cas, Anna, you around. We've got a problem."

* * *

><p>Dean was being frogmarched along a plush hall by—and it burned him to admit it—a middle-aged woman. She may look like a soccer mom but he grip was damned strong and he had quit struggling after the first time he heard a bone grind. Now he was allowing himself to be pushed along, gritting his teeth and plotting all kinds of way to kill her later, just as soon as he figured out what kind of fugly she was.<p>

He'd been in the grocery store, halfway to the checkout with a pie in hand, when he'd felt someone bump into him. He turned, wondering whether to curse at rudeness or flirt with whoever it was, a decision purely based on age and gender, when he'd felt a whoosh in his stomach and found himself in this corridor with the woman. She had grabbed him and started their long trek with his arms pinned behind his back.

They came to an open door halfway down the corridor, and she thrust him inside and slammed the door closed behind him. He pounded on the door, shouting threats and obscenities for a moment and then he turned to look around the room.

Dean had spent most of his life in motels and hotels, and he'd seen some of the very worst, but none of them were anything like this. The walls were dark wood paneled and the twin beds were covered with deep red eiderdowns. He had all of a second to admire the décor before he noticed a booted foot visible by the end of the second bed. With a sick swooping in his stomach, he bolted across the room and dropped down beside his brother.

"Sam!"

He was lying perfectly still, with a deep red lump on his temple that Dean was sure would blossom into a spectacular bruise within a few hours. His lips were parted and Dean could see the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. That was the only thing that stopped his worry becoming full-blown panic.

"C'mon, Sam," he muttered, "time to wake up."

He slapped Sam's cheek roughly and then leaned back on his haunches as Sam's brow creased and his eyes cracked open.

"Seriously, Sammy, you've got to stop scaring me like this," he said, relief making his voice a little breathy.

"Dean?" Sam asked, looking blearily around the room.

"The one and only."

Sam struggled to sit, and Dean helped him with a hand on his shoulder. He leaned heavily against the side of the bed and looked around the room.

"Are we dead again?"

Dean laughed slightly, a mere breath through parted lips. "Don't think so. What do you remember?"

"I was at Bobby's, in the library, when something happened. I remember struggling, then someone must have cracked me, 'cause I don't remember anything till waking up here. What happened to you?"

"Got snatch-and-grabbed at the grocery store. And I had my hands on the damned pie when it happened. Some crazy strong woman dragged me here."

Sam raised a tentative hand to the lump on his temple and hissed. "Dammit."

"Yeah, someone got you good," Dean said sympathetically.

Sam got to his feet and looked around the room warily. There was something in his expression, some uncertainty, that made Dean nervous. "You okay, Sammy?" he asked.

Sam nodded jerkily and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I mean… This is all real, right? I'm not tripping balls at Bobby's, am I?"

Dean wondered how it would feel for a moment to be in Sam's head. How hard it must be when you couldn't take anything real for granted, as you never knew when it was just another PTSD induced acid trip. He thought he would lose his mind altogether.

"If you're tripping, I am too," he said. "I think it's real, like that's a comfort. Nah, we're here, wherever here is, and we're stuck here until the crazy strong woman does what she needs to do."

Sam smiled wanly. "Least we know death's not an end right now. Maybe she just needs to kill us and get it out of her system."

Dean hated that, hated that Sam could talk about death so easily and without fear. He didn't believe Sam wanted to die, but that wasn't the point. Their sojourn in Heaven had been… interesting, but he was in no hurry to go back. He remembered the sickening feeling of waking up in that motel room, coated in his own blood, and seeing Sam looking wild-eyed and panicked as he tried to rip off his own bloodied clothing. They had to get out of there.

Eventually, they were forced to accept that there was nothing in the room that was going to help them pick the lock, and they both sank down onto the edge of the bed.

"Well, that was a bust," Dean said bitterly.

"Don't supposed you got any clues on your way in about where we are," Sam said.

Dean shook his head. "Nah."

Sam sighed. "Can't call Castiel then."

"No, but I have a feeling we won't be in here forever. Whatever she wants from us was worth scooping us up and bringing us here. I doubt she did that for us to enjoy the—"

He cut off as the door handle twisted and opened. The woman that had brought him in was standing on the threshold with a man Dean hadn't seen before.

"Gentlemen, we're ready for you," she said, and she and the man stepped forward reaching for them.

* * *

><p>Sam's only comfort when his head was betraying him and casting him into some hellish nightmare was that it wasn't real. According to Dean, this was real though, and he could find no comfort as they were forced along the corridors with their hands held behind their back.<p>

Before they'd been grabbed, Sam had seen that their assailants were wearing stickers on their clothes naming them as Kali and Baldur. He didn't know if Dean had felt the same horror of realization, but he knew what they were up against and just how screwed they were.

Sam had been to one formal dinner in his life, that was the juniors' finals dinner and dance at college. It had been held in a ballroom off the Stanford Campus and the place had been decked out like a fine hotel. The room he found himself thrust into beside his brother looked a lot like that room had, except for the fact there was a spread of white clothed tables in the centre of the room and chairs surrounding them where the dance floor should be. It looked like he had been brought to an executive's annual summit, except instead of businessmen in formal suits, the chairs were filled with ten of the most mismatched figures he'd seen in one place. Each other them wore their own name tag and he recognized names like Ganesh, Odin, Mercury and Zao Shen. His sense of foreboding increased with each name.

They were forced into chairs and a bright spotlight was trained on them.

"Ladies and Gentleman," Baldur said, "our guests of honor have arrived."

Dean looked askance at Sam and asked in a low voice, "On a scale of one to ten, just how screwed are we?"

"Thirteen," Sam whispered back.

"Awesome."

Kali and Baldur moved to stand at the head on the table and Baldur raised a champagne flute and tapped it with a spoon gently and the applause that had started with Sam and Dean's arrival died away. "Ladies and gentleman, thank you for coming. In all my centuries, I never thought I'd see this. This many Gods under one roof."

"Gods!" Dean hissed and Sam nodded reluctantly.

Baldur went on. "Now, before we get down to brass tacks, some ground rules. No slaughtering each other. Curb your wrath. Oh, and keep your hands off the local virgins. We're, trying to keep a low profile here. Now we all know why we're here. The Judeo-Christian apocalypse looms over us. I know we've all had our little disagreements in the past. The time has come to put those aside and look toward the future. Because if we don't, we won't have one. Now we do have two very valuable bargaining chips. Michael, and Lucifer's vessels. The question is, what do we do now? Anybody have any bright ideas? Speak up. This is a safe room."

The man wearing the Zao Shen name tag spoke up, though Sam didn't understand the language, the anger in his tone was unmistakable.

Ganesh laughed. "Kill 'em? What, so the angels can bring the back again?"

"I don't know what everybody's getting so worked up about!" Odin said, leaning back in his chair the picture of relaxation. "'Cause it's just a couple of angels having a slap fight! There's no Armageddon. Everybody knows, when the world comes to an end, the Great Serpent Jormungandr rises up, and I myself will be eaten by a big wolf!"

Zao Shen said something else and the tension in the room increased exponentially as they began to argue amongst themselves. Sam felt his chest tighten and his hands began to tremble. He knew what was happening, as he'd been feeling these tells for months now, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. The fire licked up the wall and the varied ethnics of the gods were replaced with rotting corpse faces. He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, repeating a mental litany of 'not real'. He felt a hand resting on his arm and he knew without looking that it would be Dean.

"Hold it together, Sammy," Dean said gently. "You can't lose it here."

Sam nodded, his eyes still squeezed tight shut.

"You sure they're the vessels?" someone asked. "That big one doesn't look strong enough to handle a tea party let alone withstand a archangel."

"Hey!" Dean shouted.

Sam opened his eyes and gripped Dean's arm as Dean half rose from the chair. The last thing they needed was for Dean to get killed by a pissy god.

"His weakness is all to the archangel's benefit," Baldur said. "Easier to manipulate by far."

"He's not damned weak," Dean said angrily. "

"It's fine, Dean," Sam said softly, trying to ignore the way the rotting faces turned to look at him.

The woman, Kali, stood and smoothed the folds of her skirt. Looking around the room at the assembled gods, she said, "We have to fight. The archangels—the only thing they understand is violence. This ends in blood. There is no other way, it's them or us."

"With all due respect, ma'am," Mercury said, "we haven't even tried talking to them…" Kali fixed his with her glare and his words trailed off as he loosened his bowtie and began to retch. He leaned over the table and a stream of blood slipped out of his mouth onto the pure white cloth.

"Kali!" Baldur said in a bored tone.

"Who asked you?"

Dean's hand was still on Sam's arm and it tightened momentarily. Sam took the comfort as it was offered.

Suddenly, the doors behind them crashed open and Sam and Dean turned in time to see Gabriel marching through them. "Can't we all just get along?"

"Ga—" Sam swallowed around the word, and found that he wasn't able to speak. Judging from the shocked look on Dean's face and him mouthing wordlessly, he was experiencing the same problem.

"Sam! Dean! It's always wrong place, worst time with you muttonheads, huh?" Gabriel said brightly.

"Loki." There was unmistakable loathing in Baldur's tone.

"Baldur. Good seeing you too. I guess my invitation got lost in the mail."

"Why are you here?"

"To talk about the elephant in the room. Not you," Gabriel added and Ganesh started to stand. "The Apocalypse. We can't stop it, gang. But first things first…" He turned to Sam and Dean. "The adults need to have a little conversation. Check you later."

He snapped his fingers and Sam found himself back in the room they'd been brought to before. Dean was beside him and he was raking a hand through his hair. "Dammit," Dean spat. "He had to blast us off before we could get to the good part. What the hell are we going to do now?"

"You're going to call your guardian angel and bounce out of here," Gabriel said from behind them. Sam spun on his heel and saw Gabriel lounging on the couch.

Dean glared at him. "I should've known. I mean this had your stink all over it from the jump."

"You think I'm behind this?" Gabriel said innocently. "Please. I'm the Costner to your Houston. I'm here to save your ass."

"You wanna pull us outta the fire?"

"Bingo! Those guys are either gonna dust you, or use you as bait. Either way, you're uber boned."

"Wow," Dean said. "'Cause a couple of months ago you were telling us that we need to _'play our roles'._ You were uber boning us!"

"Ohh... The end is still nigh. Michael and Lucifer are gonna dance the lambada, but not tonight. Not here."

"And why do you care?" Sam asked.

"I don't care. But, me and Kali we, uh, had a thing. Chick was all hands. What can I say? I'm sentimental."

"Do they have a chance? Against Satan?" Dean asked.

Sam looked to his brother, surprised that he was even considering this, and then reason caught up with him. They may be a group of fuglys, but they were powerful. If there was even a chance they could take out Lucifer, Sam and Dean needed to help them. This could be the answer they were looking for.

"It's a bad idea," Gabriel said. "Lucifer's gonna turn them into finger paint. So let's get going while the going's good, hmm? This is the Elysian Fields Hotel, Muncie, Indiana." When they continued to stare blankly at him he groaned. "C'mon guys. Call up Castiel and have him fulfill his role as your white knight. Get out of here while the going's good."

"We can't," Sam said. "Not if there's a chance they can do this."

"I told you there isn't!" Gabriel said. "Lucifer will kill them all!"

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. It sounded to Sam that Gabriel was more concerned with the fight happening in the right time and place rather than the actual fate of them or any of the gods here.

"Sam?" Dean said questioningly, and Sam knew what he was asking.

"We're staying."

Gabriel threw up his arms. "What does it take to get through to you boys?"

"The fact you're even asking proves that you just don't get it," Dean said.

"Fine, you're too stupid to save yourselves, I'll find someone that isn't."

* * *

><p>Sam and Dean were in their room alone for a long time before the Trickster got back. He snapped into being by the couch and threw himself down. "Boy, the day I've had."<p>

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, my heart bleeds for you, Gabriel. We, on the other hand, are having an awesome day."

"Have either of you been killed yet?" Gabriel asked. "'Cause I have! Kali snagged my blade and used it against me, right through the heart."

"And yet you're here talking," Dean said. "Explain that."

Gabriel rolled his shoulders as if easing stiffness. "I _am _the Trickster. You think I was going to give her the real one. I gave her one I made out of a can of Orange Slice?"

"So, let me guess, the god brigade have a fake archangel blade and are just now getting ready to call Lucifer to come collect his prize?"

"Got it in one, Deano," Gabriel said with satisfaction. "Now, I would vamoose you out of here to safety, but there the small problem of Kali having my blood. She flipped on me when I was trying to persuade her to make a run for it, and now I'm trapped."

"How's that work?" he asked.

"It's a blood spell. She has mine and now I am bound to her. I can't exactly go hopping around the hotel looking for where she stashed it, so you boys need to go get it for me. Her room is one-eighty-seven. I bet you'll find it on the dresser."

"We're not helping you," Dean said scathingly. "Hand over the real blade. Better yet, why don't you sack up and help them take down Lucifer."

"You can't be serious!"

"Deadly," Dean said. "Help us save the world."

"I can't kill my brother."

"Can't or won't?" Dean asked and Gabriel looked down at the floor. "That's what I thought."

Dean turned away from him and moved to the door. He hammered on the wood and shouted, "Hey, we need to talk!"

"Don't do this, Dean," Gabriel said.

"Too late," Sam said as the door handle turned.

Gabriel disappeared just in time as one of the gods wearing the nametag Mercury opened the door.

"Can I help you, Gentlemen?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I need to talk to Kali. We've got information for her."

Mercury stepped back and bowed. "Then by all means, come with me."

Dean cast a glance sideways and saw Sam squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, one of his tells for a bad moment, and Dean cursed internally. He needed Sam with his head in the game if this was going to be their last stand against Lucifer. These fuglys would kill them as soon as they were done with Lucifer on principle alone, and they both needed to be ready to run when the time came. That was assuming Lucifer didn't kill them first. It was far from a dead cert, but it was the only chance they had.

When they got to the ballroom, Kali was examining the bloodied blade in her hand, twisting it to catch the light. She didn't look at them as they entered, but Baldur followed their movements with his eyes.

Dean clapped his hands together. "All right you primitive screwheads, listen up. Now, on any other given day, I'd be doing my damndest to kill you, you filthy murdering chimps. But, hey, desperate times. So even though I'd love nothing better than to slit your throats, you dicks, I'm gonna help you. I'm going to help you ice the Devil. And then we can all get back to ganking each other like normal. First thing you need to know, Gabriel's not dead. He's lurking around somewhere, apparently trapped by some blood spell, and that sword"—he pointed to Kali—"is a fake. So, if you've got some other master plan for icing the Devil, we can help. See… Lucifer, well, dude's not in the Yellow Pages. But me and Sam, we can get him here."

"How?" Kali asked, sounding only mildly interested.

Sam cleared his throat and started to answer, but Dean spoke over him. "Not so fast. No one's calling Satan till we know there's more than a snowflake's chance of making it out alive."

Before anyone could answer, the lights flickered and the gods sprang into action. They ran for the door, whether to escape or fight, Dean didn't know, but he had an idea that Lucifer was already there. Only Kali and Baldur stayed in the room, standing their ground.

From beyond the doors they could hear crashes and bangs followed by howls of pain that cut off abruptly. Then it fell silent, and the lack of sound was more frightening than the noise had been.

Dean grabbed Sam's sleeve and tugged him over to the side of the room. No one tried to stop them, both Kali and Baldur had other concerns.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked in a low voice.

"He's coming," Sam said. "Dean, Lucifer is coming."

"I know. It's okay."

"Don't let me…" Sam swallowed thickly. "Don't let me say yes."

"Never," Dean vowed.

Sam smiled slightly and Dean looked up to see the double doors fly open and a man walking through.

Lucifer was a wreck. Dean had seen something vaguely similar in the hours before his deal had come due, when he'd been able to see demons' true faces. Then the skin had been rotting and sloughing off, and that was how Lucifer looked now. Despite the horrendous skin, Dean had to marvel at how ordinary Lucifer was. He was an average height, average build man. Dean had expected something more. Lucifer in Sam's body was so much more intimidating, and not just because of the fact it had been Sam.

"Sam, good to see you again," Lucifer said. "Dean, it's nice to finally meet you."

Baldur stepped forward, fury etched into his features.

"Baldur, don't," Kali warned, but he paid her no heed.

"You think you own the planet? What gives you the right?"

Lucifer stuck out a fist and punched a hole through Baldur. His hand protruded grotesquely from Baldur's back, smeared with blood.

"No one gives us the right, we take it."

He shoved Baldur away from his and he hit the ground with a meaty thud.

Kali stepped forward, and Dean blinked, not sure of what he was seeing. Her arms were engulfed with flame and as they watched she aimed it at Lucifer. Dean shoved Sam to the ground and dived after him. Flames whooshed over their head and they ducked lower.

When the flames had dissipated, Dean turned to Sam. "You okay?"

"Not really," Gabriel said, appearing beside them. "But better late than never, huh?" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Now, quick, call Castiel and get yourselves out of here."

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked.

"I'm going to stand up for what I believe in," Gabriel said, then rose to a stand. "Luci, I'm home."

Ducking lower and gripping Sam's sleeve, Dean spoke in a whisper. "Cas, Anna, we're in the ballroom of the Elysian Field Hotel, Muncie—"

"We're here," Castiel said from beside him.

There was a sick swooping sensation and they were gone.

* * *

><p>Castiel took them straight to Bobby's and they were greeted with immense relief and crushing hugs. Then Castiel disappeared again and the process of explaining what had happened began.<p>

There was no sign of Castiel or Anna for another hour, and the three of them were sitting at the kitchen table, nursing glasses of whiskey, when there was a fluttering sound and a fourth presence in the room.

"The archangel Gabriel has been has fallen," Castiel said solemnly. "And Anna."

"What happened?" Bobby asked in a breathy voice.

"Lucifer. He slayed them both. With Heaven closed to me, I have been unable to return them to what should be their final resting place. I burned them," he said apologetically.

"Cas, man, I'm sorry," Dean said.

Castiel nodded. "I am too."

Sam bowed his head. He didn't know Anna well, and he had even less affection for Gabriel, but they had both died fighting for their cause, and that made the heavy weight of grief settle over him. If not for them, Anna wouldn't have been there at all.

Bobby retrieved the bottle of whiskey and refilled their glasses. Holding up his own, he said, "To Anna."

"Anna," they all echoed and took a sip.

"And Gabriel," Dean added. "He may have been a dick but he came through for us in the end, and that's what matters."

"Gabriel."

Sam swallowed his whiskey down in a gulp and wondered what was going to happen next. The gods had been what seemed like their only chance against Lucifer. Now there was nothing. If he could kill pagan gods without even breaking a sweat, what chance was there for a small band of humans and a fallen angel?

"There is something else," Castiel said, pulling something from the inside of his jacket. Sam recognized it as the blade Kali had been toying with when they'd been taken to the ballroom.

"Don't get your hopes up, Cas," Dean said heavily. "Gabriel made that out of a can of soda."

"You are mistaken," Castiel said blandly, holding out the blade.

Dean took it and then dropped it onto the table with a clatter. "What the hell was that?"

Sam reached out and touched a finger to the hilt of the sword. It hummed slightly, as if music too high for a human's ears was resonating within it.

"That is grace," Castiel said. "That is an archangel's blade." He smiled slightly and then said with no more inflection than if he'd been commenting on the weather, "That is our weapon against Lucifer."

* * *

><p><strong>So… We're nearly at the end now. I am going to miss this story so much. It and its prequel were some of the most enjoyable stories I have written. I would love to dip into the world with a third installment, but at the moment I have no ideas. As proved with HATM it only takes one idea for me to jump into a story though, so maybe someday soon I'll be writing again. <strong>

**In other news… I posted two (technically three, but one's a sequel) stories since my last update. Summaries are below. If they catch your fancy, give them a look. **

**Howling At The Moon: **Post Season Nine Finale. Sam and Castiel have tracked Dean down and now they are going to do whatever it takes to save him.

**Lamentation In The Veil: **Heaven and Hell are shut tight and Sam's finding that death is not necessarily the end anymore. Post S9 AU. Sequel to Howling At The Moon

**The Sound Of Silence Verse: **Sam risked everything by going back into the burning house, including his life, but he never thought this would be the price. A series of interconnecting one-shots following the fallout of Sam's choice and the impact on his family. Post 1.21 - Salvation AU

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	18. Chapter 18

**Here goes… the last chapter of Picking Up The Pieces. Enjoy…**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Eighteen<strong>_

Dean was picking away at a speck of dirt that seemed to have welded itself to the hood of the Impala, cursing under his breath. It wasn't like it was a ridiculous thing to aspire to, having a smooth, polished paintjob, and he wasn't going to quit till it was gone. Compared to his immediate plans—taking out the devil—it was miniscule, and he refused to be bested by dirt. His reasoning for the obsession was simple. They were going up against Satan and there was no guarantee they were all going to make it out alive. For whoever was left—and in his heart he knew who he needed that to be—he wanted to leave the car in the condition in which it had been given to him by his father all those years ago, clean, gleaming and a thing of beauty.

They were as ready as they were ever going to be. The plans had been made. They were going to Miller's clearing, a three-acre field in the middle of nowhere, and there, they were going to draw out the Devil. Castiel was going to wield the archangel blade, and he would take the killing shot. Dean had wanted to do it himself, but according to Castiel, the archangel blade could only safely be wielded by an angel.

Just as he finally succeeded in removing the speck of dirt from the hood, the back door opened and he heard heavy footsteps on the porch. He knew without turning that it was Sam. He gave the hood one last sweep with the chamois and called it good. The Impala was ready.

Sam was sitting on the porch steps with a mug of coffee in hand. On the opposite side of the steps was a glass of whiskey. Grinning, Dean grabbed it up and sat down beside his brother.

"Thanks."

Sam smiled slightly, just a small curve of the lips, and raised his mug. "Cheers."

"You know, there's probably a rule that says you can't go icing the devil without alcohol in you," Dean said conversationally.

Sam sighed. "Not a good idea today."

Dean turned to face him and saw the tension lines in Sam's forehead and the hard line of his lips. "Bad?" he asked.

"It's been worse, but it's definitely not my best day."

"You know… you don't have to—" Dean began but Sam cut him off.

"And how are you going to get him there without me?"

That was the part of the plan Dean hated most of all and had argued most ardently against. They were going to use the pull of Sam as Lucifer's vessel to lure the devil. Castiel was going to remove the etchings on his ribs and they were hoping that the pull of his true vessel would bring Lucifer to them. Castiel was confident that it would. He believed Lucifer would be searching for Sam even now, and the moment he was able to sense him, he would be there. Dean didn't want Sam there. He didn't want him within a mile of Lucifer. What if their plan failed? Would Lucifer trap Sam and somehow trick him into saying yes? Was he still bound on course to a world in which he lived in a post-apocalyptic nightmare without his brother?

"Besides," Sam said. "I have to come. I have to see him gone."

Dean understood. He didn't like it, but he understood. Sam needed to see this through, just like he did. He was the one that had started this mess by killing Lilith. He was going to be there to see Lucifer die.

The one comfort he had was that when this was over, Sam could finally get some rest. Without the threat of Lucifer hanging over them, he would be free to go his own way. He could hang up the hunt and go somewhere quiet, Missouri's maybe, and take care of himself. He could get all the help he needed to kick the PTSD thing in the ass once and for all.

"Dean…" Sam started and then faltered. "We need to talk."

Dean saw the longing in his brother's eyes and the pain and he knew what was coming. "No!" he said abruptly. "We're not doing the goodbye thing. Hell no! We're coming out of this and we're going to get you fixed. That's the only outcome that I'm going to accept, and I'm not hearing different. You're gonna live, Sam."

Sam smiled. "That's not what I was going to say, but thanks for the reassurance anyway."

"Oh," Dean said, feeling suddenly stupid for his impassioned speech. "What did you want to say then?"

"What I was going to say was that we need to agree on something before we set out. We need to agree that this time, we let nature take its course."

Dean felt a tightening in his gut. In a way, this was worse than the goodbye speech.

"We know how this might end," Sam continued. "And if it goes bad, you have to agree to let it rest. I don't want you trying to save me. No deals this time, Dean."

Dean didn't want to think about this. He didn't want to make any promises that he couldn't keep, but at the same time, he understood what Sam was saying. He didn't want him making deals either. They'd both done that before, and it had ended in nothing but tragedy. He'd been to Hell, Sam had been to Hell, and as a result the world was crashing to its knees with only a fallen angel armed with a blade he should never wield to save it before it fell.

"Okay," Dean said eventually. "I won't try and make a deal for you if…" He shook his head. "But you've got to promise the same. If this is my time and I die, you've got to let me stay dead. You can't go exchanging yourself for me again."

Sam nodded. "I promise." He stretched his legs out in front of him and laid his palms flat on his knees. "At least we know where we're heading this time. Heaven may not be all I hoped, but at least we won't be alone."

Dean smiled as he considered. An eternity of starry nights with his brother and lunches with his mom wasn't so bad. He'd had plenty worse.

Silence fell over them and Dean sipped at his whiskey. He had said he didn't want any goodbyes but now Sam had forced him to accept that there was a good chance they wouldn't both make it out, he knew there was something he had to say, something he owed his brother.

"Sammy, I know we're not big on the heart to hearts, but there's something I need to say. I realized I never said it, and I should have." He took a deep breath. "Hell was… well, you know what it was, and I thought I'd be there forever, and then you made that deal and I was saved. Thank you."

Sam smiled. "You did the same for me."

Dean shook his head slightly. His deal had been selfishness, born out of a need to save himself from a life alone rather than to save Sam from a life of Hell. He'd known what he was doing and he'd done it anyway. For him, another year of Sam was worth an eternity of Hell. Sam's deal had been selfless. He'd done it to save his brother.

"Well, thanks," Dean said lamely.

In unison, they got to their feet and stepped into each other's arms. Dean gripped the back of Sam's shirt and held him tight for a moment.

"Sam…" Dean faltered, the words sticking in his throat.

"I know," Sam said, and Dean could hear the smile in his voice. "Me too."

The door opened behind them and they broke apart, a certain awkwardness settling over them as Castiel peered out at them. "Bobby said he needs you."

When they got into the library, they saw Bobby had set up his ancient camera on a stack of books, aimed at the opposite wall.

"Come on," he grumbled. "Get in the frame. I need a mug-shot of you all. That means you too, Cas."

Castiel looked a little baffled, so Dean tugged on his arm and led him to stand beside him against the wall. Bobby fiddled with the camera for a moment and then hurried forward to stand beside Sam. There was a ticking as the counter clicked down to zero and then the flash went off.

"There," Bobby said with satisfaction.

Dean wondered about the picture nestled on film within the case of the camera, thinking of the lack of pictures he had after Sam had died. He was comforted by the idea that whoever was left would have a visual reminder of what had been.

Hopefully, it would be a shot of the people that had saved the world.

* * *

><p>He should have been expecting it, Dean thought. It could never be easy enough for them to just leave and get it over with already. They all prepped to leave but there was a slight hold up in the form of a confused angel.<p>

"I still don't understand," Castiel said. "Why would we drive when I can take us all there in a fraction of a second?"

"It's a human thing, Cas," Dean said. "We're not exactly in a race to get to our deaths."

Castiel still look confused and Sam explained, "We drive for an hour, we live for an extra hour."

"Well, I can meet you there," Castiel said.

"Shut up and get in the damn car, Castiel," Bobby said brusquely. "Carry on like this we'll never get there."

Dean laughed as Castiel, angel of the Lord, soldier of God, hurried around to the passenger side of the Chevelle and climbed in.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance over the top of the Impala and then they each climbed into the car. Dean pulled his box of cassettes out from under the seat and rooted through. "What do you think, Sammy, Zeppelin?"

"As long as it's not _Stairway to Heaven,_" Sam said. "I don't think we should screw with fate."

Dean conceded the point and rooted through the tapes, looking for one in particular. "Got it!" he said triumphantly. He slid it into the stereo and the intro to _Rock of Ages _began.

Sam grinned. "That'll do."

Dean hammered his hands against the steering wheel and sang along loudly. He felt Sam watching him for a moment and he waited for it to happen, and then it did. Sam gave into the lure of Def and began to sing along too, loud and off key.

The Impala ate up the road as they sung. Bobby's Chevelle was visible in the rearview mirror and Dean was pretty sure he and Castiel weren't having nearly as much fun as he and Sam were.

When _Rock of Ages _segued into _Coming Under Fire_ they both laughed raucously.

The perfect, peaceful illusion of the ride didn't last nearly long enough. Soon they were pulling onto the dirt track that would lead them to Miller's field. As they pulled into the clearing, Dean cut the engine and looked across at Sam. "You ready, Sammy?"

Sam nodded jerkily. "As I'll ever be."

They climbed out and headed to the very center of the field. It could have been any field in any state, with its long grass swaying in the breeze, but Dean couldn't but notice how like Heaven it was. He hoped it wasn't a sign of foreboding.

Castiel and Bobby came to join them and all the lightheartedness of the drive seemed to evaporate. They were here to do a job now and they had to focus.

"Are you ready, Sam?" Castiel asked.

Sam nodded. "Whenever you are."

Dean took a deep breath, girding himself, and waited. Castiel laid a hand on Sam's chest and Sam winced away. It looked like having the sigils removed was as painful as it was to have them put on.

Castiel stepped back. "It is done."

For what felt like an hour but couldn't have been more than a minute, they waited with adrenaline filled veins and sharp breaths. They looked around but there was no one in the clearing outside of the four of them. And then Dean felt it. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and a tremor crept through him. Lucifer was there. He could feel it.

"All right!" he shouted, making the others jump. "We're here, you son of a bitch! Come and get it!"

"Well I wasn't going to," a bored voice said, "but with that invitation, how could I refuse?"

Lucifer stepped out of the shadowy trees and Dean's heart seemed to falter. Even after all their planning and praying it would work, he hadn't really thought Lucifer would come. It had seemed too easy.

"Lucifer," Sam said through gritted teeth.

"Sam," Lucifer said genially. "It's so good to see you again." As he spoke, he sauntered forward, looking completely at ease.

He came to a stand a few feet from their small group and Dean held his breath. It had to work. Castiel had to do it.

Another beat passed and Castiel still hadn't struck, and Dean's desperation rose to a whole new level. "Now, Cas!" he shouted.

Castiel lurched forward and it all happened so fast, Dean's eyes couldn't track it. One moment Castiel was there, snapping his wrist out to catch the blade he'd secreted under the sleeve of his coat, and the next he was gone. A fine spray of warm something hit Dean's face and neck and he knew, with a sick lurching in his stomach that it was Castiel.

The archangel blade dropped to the ground and Lucifer looked down at it. "Where did you get that?"

Dean was already in motion. He threw himself toward the blade and snatched it up. Lucifer was bowing to retrieve it too, so when Dean pulled back his sick, rotting face was on level with Dean's. He smiled slightly, as if amused.

"Fuck you!" Dean snarled and plunged the blade into Lucifer's chest. He felt it slide between the ribs, penetrating skin and flesh and muscle. Lucifer looked surprised as he drew back and looked down at the blade penetrating his chest, right over his heart. Then surprise was wiped from his face as his head flew back and blinding white light beamed from his open mouth and eyes, blinding Dean, pulling him down into darkness.

His last thought, as the darkness took over, was that it had worked. He'd killed the Devil."

* * *

><p>They seemed to fall in unison, Lucifer and Dean, both crumpling gracefully to the grass.<p>

Sam was frozen in place, unable to move a muscle, as he watched his brother's arm's fly out to the sides and his head bounce once on the grass. As Dean came to a rest, Sam's muscles released him and he lurched forward, towards Dean, pulling his shoulders up and against his chest.

"Dean! Dean! Dean! Dean! Dean!" His voice was a bellow by the end, but Dean didn't move a muscle. His head lolled back and he was as still as a doll, a mannequin, a corpse.

"No!" Sam cried, and tears began to slip down his cheeks, making tracks in the blood that had been Castiel.

"Sam," he heard a voice and a hand rested on his shoulder, but he paid it no heed. It wasn't Dean so it didn't matter. All that mattered was his brother open his eyes and stop scaring him. He _needed _Dean!

"Dean, please," he begged. "Please don't leave me!"

He knew in his heart of hearts that it was too late, that Dean was gone, but he couldn't bear it, so he refused to accept it. He remained on his knees with his brother's limp form against his chest and his heart breaking.

Then, as the minutes passed and Dean failed to respond to his brother's desperate pleading, another idea came to him. This didn't have to be the end. He could get his brother back. A demon or an angel, they both had the ability to save him.

Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered Dean to the ground again, positioning him so he looked comfortable, and got to his feet. He stared down at his brother, taking in the expression. The last time he'd been forced to look down at his brother's corpse, the open, staring eyes and shocked expression had been the thing that stayed with him longest, as if he hadn't really believed he was going to die until it happened, As if he'd been relying on his brother to save him at the last minute. This time he didn't look shocked or peaceful, he looked satisfied. His features had frozen in the expression of satisfaction Dean had worn the moment he defeated the Devil. The moment he saved the world.

Sam turned and saw the tears tracking down Bobby's face and knew that Bobby's heart was breaking, too.

"Sam," Bobby said gently, shaking his head. "Don't do this."

Sam didn't need to ask him to clarify. He knew what Bobby was saying as he knew what Sam was thinking. It was what the Winchesters did after all, save each other, no matter the cost.

"I have to," he said simply.

"This isn't what he'd want. If you go back to the pit, it will break him, it will break you."

Sam smiled slightly. "I'm already broken, and Dean will survive. That's what matters."

"No demon will deal with you."

"No? Then I need something better than a demon. I'll find an angel."

Bobby gripped Sam's jacket and shook him. It reminded him so forcibly of his brother, raging at him for thinking he had been fine without Sam, that he had to choke back a sob. Bobby released his shirt and pulled him into a hug instead. "Please, Sam, don't do this."

"I have to," Sam said again. "There's no other way."

"There is," a somber voice said.

Sam andBobby broke apart and stared in shock at the angel that was standing behind them. Castiel had died, Sam knew; he was still coated in his blood, but that didn't explain why the angel was standing there, looking unruffled though sad as he looked down at Dean's body.

"Cas, you're alive," Bobby breathed.

"I'm better than that. I can save him now."

The tears streaking down Sam's face increased and he stared in awe at the angel. "Please, Cas, do it. Bring him back. I need him."

Castiel nodded and crouched down beside Dean. With an expression of utmost tenderness, he placed two fingers on Dean's forehead and closed his eyes.

Sam watched carefully, scared to believe. And then Dean's chest heaved and his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he looked disoriented and then he lurched to his feet and rounded on Sam.

"What did you do?" he snarled.

Sam disregarded his words and pulled him into a hug that knocked the newly returned breath from Dean's body. He clung onto him as if he would be stolen away if he didn't hold him tight enough. Sobs wracked his body and his tears dampened Dean's jacket.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said gently. "We'll fix it."

"There's nothing to fix," Bobby said. "No one made a deal."

"Then how? Dean asked.

"I saved you," Castiel said serenely.

"Cas… but… how…?" Dean shook his head and slowly extricated himself from Sam's embrace. He gripped the back of Sam's neck and stared into his eyes.

"Swear it, Sam. Swear you didn't make a deal."

"I swear," Sam said. "I wouldn't do that. We promised."

Dean closed his eyes, seeming to relish the relief for a moment and then he laughed. "Promise my ass."

Sam grinned. "No deals, Dean. I swear. This is all on Cas."

Dean nodded. "Okay. In that case, thanks, Cas. I owe you one."

"We all do," Bobby said with feeling.

Castiel smiled. "I was happy to help. That's what friends do."

Dean raked a hand through his hair and then looked disgustedly at his bloodied palm, remnants of Castiel's demise clinging to his skin.

"I need a shower and a beer. Not sure in which order."

"Beer sounds good," Sam said.

Bobby cleared his throat. "We need to deal with him first."

Sam looked down at Lucifer's corpse where it lay on the grass. "Are we sure he's… gone?" he asked.

Castiel nodded. "There is no grace within that vessel now. That is just the shell of a man. Lucifer is gone."

Dean clapped his hands together. "I call that a good day."

It was an amazing day. They'd defied odds and saved the world, and they were all alive to tell the tale. Sam hadn't said yes, and broken though he was, he had his brother still. There was still work to do, there were other horsemen out there and they had to find the cause of the Croatoan outbreak that Dean had seen, but when that was over, when they were done, they could all rest.

_**~ The End ~**_

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><p><strong>Thank you each and every one of you that have come with me on the crazy journey. Your reviews, faves and adds made me happier than I could say. It started with an idea that wouldn't go away—What if Sam <em>could<em> make a deal?—and it had ended with almost 200k words of work. I enjoyed this story more than any I've written before, and it breaks my heart a little that it's over. I would love to continue this verse, but at the moment, I have no other ideas for Sam and Dean. That may change, so keep an eye out for something new. If you have ideas for what could happen/what you would like to see happen next, drop me a PM or review and share.**

**Until the next story…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


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